And Then There Was You
by Shortstack and Fishface
Summary: Sometimes, looking back on it, I realize that it probably wasn't a very good idea in the first place. But the mist of the night had only just settled in and the city was calling to me. It was screaming out my name as if I were meant to be there.
1. Chapter 1

And Then There Was You  
  
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A/N: This fic was written by two, very lovely best friends. That'd be Me, Birdy, and my best mate, Anna. We.. don't own Newsies, we however, own Shortstack, Fishface, and Kerry.. and anyone else you don't recognize. Yes we do. Yeah, we Mary-Sued, but at least we did it with STYLE. *strikes a pose*  
  
Review, and you get a cookie.  
  
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Chapter One  
  
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Sometimes, looking back on it, I realize that it probably wasn't a very good idea in the first place. But the mist of the night had only just settled in and the city was calling to me... it was screaming out my name as if I were meant to be there. So perhaps I was, perhaps I wasn't, that's totally and completely beside the point. And the point is, it was calling to me. Calling to me as if my name were the only one that had ever graced its ears. That's of course, assuming a city could have ears.  
  
I had left the convent with high hopes for my suddenly not-so-distant future. All my life, I'd dreamed of leaving that place, finally being free. But it only came to my realization that evening that I hadn't had any idea how to get to my destination. It was cold, and my boots were starting to dampen through to my woolen socks as I accidentally slipped into a puddle, wetting the bottoms of my skirt.  
  
There were various buildings with lights on, and sometimes if you walked by close enough, you could smell the liquor that was undoubtedly inside and faintly hear the music playing in the background. I was wandering, with no particular destination, through what I didn't know was Brooklyn. Wherein resided Spot Conlon, Leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, The most respected Newsie in New York, and probably everywhere else, Spot Conlon. The Key.  
  
Unfortunately, in the middle of the night, sense comes slowly to the lonely wanderer. With little more than a clue of where I was, much less where I was going, I had strayed into Spot Conlon's territory where I was clearly not welcome. With only the streetlights indicating any surroundings, I walked on, unsure of what I would stumble across. Actually, someone stumbled across me, and I felt a rough hand grab my arm. Fear shot through my heart and I was too surprised to utter any coherent sounds. Quickly, I was pulled into a dark alley, without being able to clearly see my captor. All that I could be certain of was that he was a tall man, with a broad shoulder. He said nothing to me, just kept his back turned while pulling me away from the lit streets. A million terrible thoughts raced through my mind as we reached the alley. Shoving my back fiercely against a wall, whoever it was that had so rudely abducted me held my small shoulders between his large, rough hands. Though I could not see his face at all through the darkness, the mere sound of his voice made my breath ice cold.  
  
"What is it that you're doing here, little lady?" His speech was gruff, and it made my legs weak. I felt myself about to faint and could not respond. Shaking me terribly, he raised his voice. "I ASKED, what are you doing around here?"  
  
"I - I..." in my shock, I desperately tried to find my voice. Closing my eyes, hoping he could not see me in the dark, I prayed my hardest that I would open them again only to find him gone, having been nothing more than imagined. When I opened my eyes again, I could still make out his dark outline and his hands had not left my shoulders. With the knowledge that this was very real, I felt tears spring up to my eyes, and my throat went dry. He shook me roughly again, and I began to cry just as I had when I was a child and could not find my favorite toy.  
  
He continued to shake my shoulders, and I was hoping to faint and wake up later somewhere else, anywhere else. When I did not pass out, I pretended to. Closing my eyes and collapsing, I hoped that he would abandon me there in the alley and I could run back to the convent until morning. As I fell, his hands caught me and his arms held my limp and weak body. I knew that he was studying my appearance in the dim light, trying to determine whether or not I was really unconscious, and I was just barely breathing.  
  
"I ain't an idiot, girly." My hopes were dashed, knowing that he did not believe my faint for an instant. Without opening my eyes, I choked out a few words, uncertain if he could hear my weak voice.  
  
"Let me go... please... I -" With nothing more to say, I stayed quiet and stood there, trying to steady my breath and wondering what was to become of me. Feeling myself beginning to cry, I let out one quiet sob.  
  
"Do you have any idea where you are?" I noticed the slightest change in his voice. It sounded almost sympathetic, though I could tell he tried to hide it. But he had betrayed himself, restoring the slightest bit of confidence to me, and my instincts told me that playing a damsel in distress would be the right way to go from here. Despite my bit of assurance, I was still more afraid than I'd ever been. I had no idea what this shadow had stolen me from the city lights for, and every new thought was accompanied by a new fear. Feeling my senses begin to return, I could smell liquor on the dark figure. Realizing that he must be terribly drunk, I feared that I would make him angrier and he would crush me between those large hands, as I knew he certainly could have done without so much as breaking a sweat. "What's the matter, you some kinda mute?" Hearing this, I knew that he had not heard me when I tried to speak.  
  
Gathering all my strength, I managed to say the one word, "No." I hoped that he had heard me that time, not able to speak any louder as afraid as I was.  
  
"Well then, can you tell me what you're doing here?" I heard his voice soften a bit more, and I hoped that my pitiful appearance was winning his sympathy quickly.  
  
"I - I'm lost..." I felt myself a bit stronger, and tried to stand on my own feet. I managed to stand, though his rough hands did not let go of my shoulders.  
  
"Lost are ya?" He did not wait an instant for me to reply. "Well missy, you're near the edge of Brooklyn, not far from the river. You're in Spot's area, I suppose I can take ya to him, he'll figure out something to do with you."  
  
"Spot? Who's that?" He did not stop to answer my question, but released one of my arms. He half dragged, half lead me back toward the street by the other. Reaching the street, I wanted to jump out and embrace one of the streetlamps, only too happy to be back in light again after my terrifying moments in the dark alley. I barely remember our walk, I was so afraid of what would happen to me next. I do remember darting my eyes toward the slightest noise and movement, only to discover a hidden cat or a free-blowing newspaper. After what seemed to have been hours of nothing but walking, we reached the docks of the river. In my fearful female mind, I was seized with the terror that this man just might be drunk enough to throw me into the river, though all logical reason told me that he would not.  
  
As we walked down one last street, a dark dock came into my view. I closed my eyes, He must have been planning on throwing me in this entire time. It was dark, and no one knew where I was. Nobody would even know. I let out a quiet whimper, I realize this wasn't the brightest idea as he shot an ice cold glare back at me that said, 'Shut up or I'll throw you in right now'. I quieted my sobs that were slowly flowing down my iced over face.  
  
It was a moment before I realized where he was actually taking me. There was a lit house on the dock, and   
  
I suddenly remembered what he had said, 'I suppose I can take ya to him, he'll figure out something to do with you.' I had to wonder though, who was Spot? Why was I being taken to him? Would HE be the one to throw me in the river? I shivered at the thought of it. I didn't know how to swim.  
  
The man opened the door cautiously and told me to be quiet, not that I had said anything in the first place. We entered the small lit room and I realized who this "Spot" character was. He was a thin, yet muscular, man, if you could call him a man yet. He looked young enough to have been my brother, or one of his friends. He was sitting in the back of the crowded room; a cap shadowing his face; a gold tipped cane hanging from his belt loop, and a slingshot stuck into the opposite side. His piercing green eyes surveyed the man that had brought me there, and then they landed on me. He stood up, I could have sworn he was at least a half foot shorter than the gruff man who'd pushed me into the alley a little less than an hour ago, but the firm grip on my arm loosened as he caught site of this Spot.  
  
"Bringing in the garbage Kerry?" He said coolly, walking towards us, I fought my temptation to take a step back and run out of the clubhouse. He came upon us, and I was right, he had been a half foot shorter than the man, Kerry, perhaps even shorter.  
  
Kerry looked at him, obviously drunk, but managed to make a bit of sense, "She was lost. I thought we'd take 'er in for the night, Spot. Figured you'd know what to do."  
  
Spot raised a cool eyebrow at him, "You've been drinking. I told you not to drink when you were out spying for me Kerry. I'd give ya a good soaking if there wasn't a lady present." His eyes glanced towards me, then back to Kerry. I felt a lump in the back of my throat as he paced across the room, I noticed a few things about the clubhouse. There were a few piles of newspapers sitting around, and there seemed to have been a poker game going on before Kerry had dragged me in, there were fishing nets laying around on top of some crates and a few chairs that I would have died to sit in at the moment. I figured that before this became what I supposed to be Spot's clubhouse, It had once been a fishing house, or a bait shop. Then Spot turned back to Kerry, giving him another glare, "So where'd you find 'er?" He asked Kerry. It took me a moment to register that he meant me.  
  
Kerry's grip tightened again as I relaxed, it was as if he was telling me that you had to stay on your toes around Spot Conlon. "She was wanderin' the streets, Spot, I couldn't leave 'er out there for some bum to take and then toss in the river when he was through with 'er." So Kerry hadn't been planning to throw me in the river, a wave of relief passed over me as his words registered in my head, it was calming that they didn't want to hurt me.  
  
Spot nodded, but it seemed his head was elsewhere as he relit a cigarette butt, "You're startin' to sound like one of them Lower East Side boys, Kerry.. bringin' in any poor bum you find on the street." Lower East Side.. the thought registered with me, that was where my brother was.. the newspapers all over, these were the Brooklyn Newsies! Spot! Spot Conlon.. Patrick had mentioned him once or twice before when he'd visited me. I opened my mouth.  
  
"Do you know any of the Lower East Side Newsies?" I blurted out, stumbling on my words a bit, my free hand stuck into my pocket, clutching my rosary, my only hope was that Spot Conlon would know my brother.. know where I needed to go.  
  
Kerry tightened his rough grip on my other arm, shooting me a glare that would have iced me over if I wasn't so eager to hear Spot's answer. Spot turned and raised an eyebrow at me, blowing out some smoke from his cigarette.  
  
"Oh," He said calmly, looking at Kerry rather than me, "She does talk, Does she, Kerry? Why'd you hush her when she came in? I coulda sorted this out in a matter of minutes instead of waistin' all this time thinkin' about where I was gonna put 'er." He looked to me then, his eyes were laughing at me, "Yeah, I know a few of 'em. You know 'em?"  
  
I looked around, a jolt in my stomach told me to tell him everything, but Kerry's grip on my arm said to hush my mouth before I got thrown out, I looked around nervously, "My brother.. Patrick." I said a little shakily, "And I know a few more, sometimes they came with him to the convent--"  
  
"Whoa, we got a full blown nun on our hands here, Spot," A boy from the back of the room said, laughing a little bit and taking another drink, Spot shot him a look and he shut up quickly.  
  
"Patrick, huh?" Spot said, starting to pace again, "I don't know no Patrick. But I can get Jack-y Boy up here tomorrow and he'll take ya down there." He gave me a once over and then said, "You must know Jack Kelly, the Cowboy?"  
  
I nodded, I think I'd met him once or twice before, when Patrick had come to visit me. At first when we'd walked into the clubhouse I'd been grateful for the warmth of the candlelight, but suddenly I was starting to feel a draft as Spot Conlon's cool green eyes bore into mine. He had a confidence in him, a fire that hadn't gone out yet, like so many of the boys I'd met when Patrick visited me before. He took out his cane and rapped it on the floor as he slowly paced back to where he had been sitting before he had greeted Kerry and myself. He looked at Kerry and raised an eyebrow, "Take 'er upstairs, but don't touch 'er, I don't want none of Cowboy's Newsies up here makin' a racket tomorrow about how one of me men touched their baby sister.."  
  
Kerry seemed to have gathered some courage against Spot, as he shot him one of those icy looks he'd been shooting me the whole time we were there, "If I was gonna touch 'er, Conlon, I wouldn'ta brought 'er here." He said icily.  
  
Spot just gave him a look. I feared that this look meant that after I was gone, he was going to hurt Kerry fairly badly for that comment, and from the way Kerry's hand was shaking on my tiny arm, he feared it too. However, it puzzled me that such a big man as Kerry would be frightened of Spot, however intimidating Spot came off, he probably couldn't hurt Kerry in a physical sense. I looked around the room, however, a few of the boys in the room definitely could.   
  
It was then that I realized that Spot was their leader. That was why Kerry feared him, because he could set one of the larger, huskier men on him, and they would beat him for Spot. To me, it seemed cold and heartless, later I would learn that that was what it took to lead the Brooklyn Newsies in anything. Physical Force. For the time being, I stared at him as if he were a monster, but kept the rest of my thoughts to myself as Kerry led me up a flight of creaky wooden steps to a dusty old room with mattresses scattered about on the floor.  
  
There were already some mattresses taken up by either some Brooklyn Newsie or their sister. He looked around and nodded at the empty one in the corner, "We'd take you to the lodging house, but you has to be a newsie to sleep there." He said gruffly as he sat me down as gently as he could onto the small, hard mattress. I had made it out of the convent, and had a, at least, semi-safe place to sleep. For the night anyways. 


	2. Chapter 2

I only woke the next morning because there was some sort of chaotic disorder going on outside. I grunted as I rolled over, almost forgetting that I was still in Spot Conlon's clubhouse, and not back in the convent. I sat up and looked out the foggy window, rubbing my sleeve on it to clear a little space. Cowboy. Jack Kelly was standing outside, tall and muscular as usual. His hair was combed back in the usual greasy way, and his traditional cowboy hat hung around his back from the string around his neck. I remembered who Spot had called "Jack-y Boy" and what he was like, he was the leader of the Lower East Side Newsies. Next to Cowboy stood a girl, around Spot's height, with curly brown hair, a long calico skirt that swished at her heals and a brown blouse. She seemed to be with Cowboy, but she looked to be friendly with all the boys, and all the boys seemed to be friendly with her, particularly Cowboy and Spot.  
  
I rubbed my head as I headed towards the doorway of the small room. I felt a sharp pain in the very back of my head, and I assumed it came from having been thrown against a wall in a dark alley the night before. The events of the previous night came back to me quickly, and I felt a rush of relief and hope. Soon, I might be able to see my brother. I would not feel safe until he was holding me tightly in his arms, the arms of the only person in the world I trusted at the moment.  
  
Leaving the room, I began to descend a stairway down towards the room where I had met Spot the night before. Near the bottom of the steps, a flash of light caught my eye on the wall. Looking back towards it, I discovered a mirror hanging there simply. I looked cautiously into it, a pair of sea- blue eyes staring into my own. The only things I had of my mother's were her eyes. They were the only thing I had ever liked about my appearance, simply because they reminded me of the ocean, which I had once seen in a painting of a beach, with the most beautiful blue water imaginable. Those blue eyes moved up to my hair, which had been perfectly arranged into a disgusting mess. My face had been dirtied up, as well, and my clothes were ripped. Remembering how Spot had called me "garbage" the night before, I knew that I must have indeed looked like it. Examining my reflection, I saw in my mind the girl from outside, and recalled how I had seen Jack Kelly looking at her. Sadly, I wished I had someone to look at me like that, completely different from the look I had received from Spot Conlon. From the glint in his green eyes, I could tell that he was purely disgusted with me, and that I was the last thing he wanted to see dropped on his doorstep in the middle of the night.  
  
I descended the rest of the way down to the main room where the Brooklyn boys had been playing poker the night before. It was almost completely empty except for a young man who had his cap pulled over his eyes, apparently fast asleep in one of the chairs I had been dying to take a seat in the night before. I looked around the room, my stomach was growling, and I didn't catch sight of any food. I closed my eyes momentarily and walked out onto the dock. I breathed in the fresh air after being in that rank clubhouse the entire night, the air rising up from the East River smelt fresh compared to the smoke and sweat of Spot Conlon's clubhouse, as I stepped out, Spot himself turned around.  
  
His piercing eyes were laughing at me again. It made me want to squirm.. He turned back to Jack Kelly, saying, "That's the one I was sayin' about. Kerry, the drunk bastard, comes in with 'er in the middle of the night, and she goes on about one a' your newsies bein' her brother or somethin'." I glanced back and forth between everyone out on the docks. There were a few of the boys from the poker game last night, some of whom were jumping into the river, as if they were bathing. I gave the brown-haired girl a once- over. She smiled gracefully at me. I could tell that she was around my age, from up close I could see that she had the lightest blue eyes that I had ever seen, even lighter than Jack's. She was a really beautiful young woman, her hair falling gracefully on her shoulders. Ordinarily, I would have been able to challenge her beauty, but it had rained over the night when I was out wandering Brooklyn, and my hair was in tangles and my clothes were wrinkled from the moisture in the air. Jack smiled at me, but I don't think he recognized me with my hair like this. Back at the convent, they made us bun our hair every day and wear matching clothing most days.  
  
"So she look familiar to you, Jack-y boy?" Spot questioned, no longer looking at me. I watched him though, his eyes darted back and forth from the stern look he gave Cowboy to the one he was giving to the Cowboy's lady friend, which was difficult to describe, His eyes weren't laughing at her like they did at me, and they weren't telling her to do something like they did to his men, They weren't even asking a question like they did to Cowboy. A thought dawned on me, Spot fancied the Cowboy's lady friend.  
  
Jack nodded, "I think it's Mush's sister.." He said, as if he were contemplating whether I was or not. I opened my mouth.  
  
"Yes, that's what they called Patrick, they called him Mush," I said quietly.  
  
The girl looked me over, still smiling, then she extended her hand in a lady-like way that I wasn't expecting, "I'm Fishface," She said politely, she lacked the thick New York accent that all the Brooklyn boys and Jack had, I assumed she was raised elsewhere. The next thing that dawned on me was what she had said. She said she was called Fishface. She grinned, obviously knowing what I was thinking, "It's just a silly nickname," She said, grinning ear to ear, "See?" She pulled in her cheeks and made the likeness of a fish with her face. I do believe I was the only one who found this odd, because Jack was grinning at her and Spot was just beaming as if she had been his lady friend and had done something of importance.  
  
Despite how odd I found this to be, I smiled at her, "I'm Anabeth Meyers." I said as politely as I could.  
  
Spot's eyes darted back to me, and I could see it in those laughing green eyes, he was still disgusted by me, perhaps because I hadn't found Fishface's namesake as interesting as he had, he then said coolly, taking out his slingshot and a round pebble, "Nows that I got the little runt on 'er way home, I'd better get back to me papers.. They don't sell themselves y'know." He shot an empty bottle up on one of the rails, letting it shatter into the river.  
  
Jack spit in his hand and held it out to Spot. Spot, shaking his head, spit into his hand as well and shook Jack's, saying, "You tell Mush he owes me his sister though." He said icily.  
  
Jack shook his head, "I'll tell 'im Spot." He said, turning around and starting to leave. Fishface leaned over and kissed Spot on the cheek, leaving him with his ears burning as red as his suspenders under his cap. Jack turned around and shook his head in disgust. I jogged to catch up to Jack and Fishface, who were holding hands romantically. I could hear a chorus of "aw"'s going back on the dock outside Spot's clubhouse, and then Spot's angry voice, "YOU LOT DON'T SHUT YOUR TRAPS AND I'LL SOAK YA. TRUST ME, I AIN'T SCARED TO GET MY HANDS DIRTY!" And then there was all but the silence back on the docks, except for the rapping of Spot Conlon's cane on the rotting wooden floor and his angry voice, barking orders to his men.  
  
I followed Jack and Fishface across the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. They walked along the side of the bridge almost silently, sometimes throwing in a few comments about the weather and the headlines to each other. From what I gathered from their conversation, Fishface had grown up in a girl's home in upper Manhattan. She was a pleasant girl with a loud and humorous disposition. I must admit, she and Jack did make quite the nice couple.  
  
When we rounded the corner that led up to the Manhattan Newsboys' Lodging House, I knew that Patrick was near. Oh how I missed him, he must know that I'd left the convent. I told him I would leave on my sixteenth birthday to come and live with him, and for once in his life, he hadn't argued with my leaving that prison. However glad I was to get away from the cool laughing green-eyed stares of Spot Conlon, I was a million times gladder to have gotten away from the convent.  
  
The door creaked open as Jack Kelly walked through, followed closely by Fishface, then myself. They hadn't said a word to me the whole trip until just then, "Mush's been pretty shaken up by you not showin' up last night, chya know that?" Cowboy asked me.  
  
"I.. got lost." I said quietly, "And Kerry found me in Brooklyn and brought me to Spot's place.." I protested, though I wasn't sure of what exactly I was protesting.  
  
Jack led me up a flight of stairs to an open room with bunks all over. I had slept through the afternoon and walked through the evening, so it seemed that most of the Newsies were back from selling the afternoon edition, and in their down time before they would go out, possibly to some cruddy bar or dance theater. My eyes scanned the room, I could hardly make out who anyone was, but my eyes landed on one of the center bunks.. Patrick.  
  
I guess he must have seen me too, because almost before I knew it I was enveloped in the second tightest hug that I can remember. I knew it couldn't be anyone else but Patrick, and I hugged him just as closely, almost squeezing the breath out of him. Perhaps I didn't hug him that tightly only because he was my beloved twin brother, but perhaps because I was just so happy to be back with someone familiar, someone I really knew. Whatever the reason, I stayed locked in his arms for what felt like an hour, just crying with happiness at being back with him.  
  
After what may have been ten minutes of blissful silence, I felt him whisper in my ear, "Good to see you again, Shortstack."  
  
I smiled and felt another tear run down my cheek and drip onto his shirt. "You know I don't like it when you call me that." Really, I didn't mind his nickname for me at all, I was just so happy to have him to talk to, I would have said anything. Stretching up to rest my head on his shoulder, I looked around the room. Everyone else had left, undoubtedly to leave the two of us alone for awhile, although being in a huge crowd wouldn't have mattered to me at all. I had my brother, and for now, that was enough. Closing my eyes, I smiled from deep within myself, truly happy for the first time in so long. Giving him another tight squeeze around his waist with my arms, I stepped back to get a good look at him and grinned playfully. "I thought your last letter said you were still good-lookin'?"  
  
"Hey, don't insult how I look!" His feigned anger made me laugh for the first time in what seemed like forever. "We're twins, remember?" This time he grinned with me. My brother and I have never looked alike. I got my appearance from our grandmother, and we've been told he's the spitting image of our father, whom neither of us can even remember. He really did look great though, much better than I must have at the moment. My mood quickly shifted to self-conciousness, deeply upset that my brother had to see me looking roughed up like I did. As always, he could read my thoughts and sense my uneasiness and pulled me close for another "big brother" hug. He always did like to look out for me and protect me, just because he's one minute older.  
  
Then he pulled up two chairs to a table at one end of the boys' room, and we sat and talked for a half an hour. I told him all about my monotonous life at the convent, which didn't take very long to do. He related to me several stories about himself and the other newsies living with him on the Lower East Side. I noticed some familiar names, and some I had never heard. Some of his stories weren't actually very interesting if you think about it, but at the time, just the sound of his voice and his natural enthusiasm made them a hundred times more fascinating. My brother's stories are never as interesting as the way he tells them. He's always had a flair for changing emotions and voices to make a tale funny, sad, or just a little less boring. I've never been as talented, or it could have just been because I never had a wonderful story to tell like he has. And the stories he doesn't have, he makes up. But I was so happy to be with him, I didn't care what was true and what wasn't, only that I had my brother back.  
  
All too soon, it was almost time for dinner at the lodging house, if you could call their bits of bread, meat, and soup a dinner. But to me, nothing was more perfect. Although before dinner, I was in desperate need of a good bath. Patrick's roomates were sweet enough to allow me to have the bathroom all to myself for a little while, so I could wash my hair and clean up. But other than my ripped dress, I had no clothes to wear. In another big brother move, Patrick let me wear a pair of pants and a shirt that he had outgrown, which were still a bit too big for me.  
  
I felt sincerely odd, sitting there in my brother's clothes in a room full of newsboys, minus Fishface, who was over in the corner, giggling and whispering sweet nothings to Jack Kelly. If Patrick hadn't been there, I wouldn't have felt in place at all. All my life was spent in a calico skirt with my hair pinned up, either sitting by a fire working on my studies or at mass. I'd never eaten with a group of wild newsboys playing poker, or with a couple making out in the corner.  
  
The food was rather meager; it explained why Patrick had said he'd often taken his meals at Tibby's, as long as he could find someone to spot him a couple cents for a hotdog and a water. But I saw how the rest of the newsboys gobbled it up as if it were the last food they'd ever eat, so I began to stuff it in my mouth as vigorously as the rest of the people in the room, excepting only Jack and Fishface, who were still in their little corner, having quite the time, or so it seemed.  
  
After the dinner, Patrick cleared out of his bunk for me and took his blanket onto the floor. I found this to be very gentle-man like of him, but I knew that deep in his heart he'd wanted to sleep on it himself.  
  
I lay there for awhile, trying to sleep. But I was being haunted. In my mind, I kept seeing those fierce green eyes, laughing at me, bearing into my soul and humiliating me. I decided then that I hated Spot Conlon, and that I would always hate him. He may have helped me for a night, but he had embarrassed me, even in front of Fishface, who I knew now would always think herself somewhat superior to me. He had made me look and feel like some dirty little ruffian, and I hoped one day I could make him feel just as bad as I did. After an hour or two, I suppose I finally got to sleep, but those eyes burned in my dreams all night long. 


	3. Chapter 3

I was awakened far more rudely that morning than I had been by the light off the East River the morning before. The boys were loudly coming to and discussing their selling routes for the day at the top of their lungs. I rolled over and tried to cover my head with the non-existent pillow, but upon realizing its non-existence, stopped bothering. I opened my eyes. The sun hadn't completely rose yet and I wasn't completely ready to be awake either, but I was forced to come to when Patrick starting shoving on my arm.  
  
"Shortstack.. you gotta get up," He said quietly in my ear, I swatted his face lightly and told him to bugger off, but he just picked me up and set me on the floor, saying as forcefully as he could, being the humorous person that he was, "We're going back to Brooklyn today.. I need a few words with Spot Conlon about a few things. Jack and Fishface are going with us," He didn't mention it, but it was only because Jack had won at poker the night before, getting himself a full dollar and that was enough to skip one day of selling papers, "You gotta get up or we won't catch 'im and we'll have to wait around all day for 'im ta get back from sellin'."  
  
I grumbled about early mornings for the rest of the time that we washed up, that is until Patrick shot me a look that said, 'I do this every morning and I'm just fine with it so shut your mouth', after which, I shut my mouth. When I had finished washing my face I examined my hair. It was wavy from sleeping on it wet. Eventually, after much agonizing on what to do with it, I braided it down on either side of my head, letting some wisps of it fall onto my face. That'd show Spot Conlon who was the garbage and who had class.  
  
It was, as I had noted the day before, a long walk between Brooklyn and Manhattan, but the boys and Fishface seemed used to it, so I didn't say anything. I hadn't gotten much practice for long walks at the convent either way, so perhaps this was a relatively short walk in comparison, I wasn't sure.  
  
The dawn had just broken when we had arrived, and sure enough, Spot Conlon sat in his usual spot, river view and everything. He seemed to be gazing out onto the river, almost as if those eyes of his did anything but laugh at others, almost as if he were human. But I shook off the thought, realizing how ridiculous it truly was. He caught site of the four of us. Jumping down he spit in his hand and shook Jack's salivated hand with his own. I still found this habit completely and utterly disgusting, but what could I do against it? Absolutely nothing. Spot smiled nicely at Fishface, his eyes fierce eyes growing, perhaps even tender, though I doubted that they could actually do that. He glanced over Patrick then spitshook with him, maybe from a past friendship, I didn't know. He gave me a quick once over. I felt his eyes boring into me, he made me embarrassed again, but I wasn't sure how.  
  
"Hey Mush, who's this?" I inwardly did cartwheels, realizing that Spot didn't recognize me. I just couldn't help myself, I had to shove it right into his face.  
  
"Oh, he's just, how did you put it?" I looked straight into his eyes innocently. "Bringing in the garbage?" I emphasized the word "garbage," throwing all of my hatred for him into it. The look on his face was purely priceless, I wish I could have had it sketched to treasure it for the rest of my life. Those powerful green eyes went wide with surprise, and I swear that for an instant his jaw dropped. It was just what I had wanted, and I wasn't able to hide my satisfied grin. He quickly pulled himself together and went back to staring me down, and I answered his challenge. But right now, his eyes didn't discourage me at all. I had seen him back down in shock, and would hold it against him forever.  
  
Clearly everyone noticed what was happening, and Patrick jumped in. "Seems my little sister ain't much into givin' well-deserved thank you's, so I'll just take care of it for her." Glancing quickly at me, his face said that he didn't approve of my behavior, but I saw the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Thanks for watchin' out for her the odda night, I appreciate it. Goils always seem to jump right into things without thinking, even going out on their owns at night and gettin' themselves good an' lost." Sensing that this was not a conversation they would feel comfortable in, Fishface and Jack slowly eased back away from us, and went to talk a few yards away.  
  
"No problem Mush, she wasn't too annoying. She oughta learn when and where to keep 'er mouth shut, though." Although he was speaking to my brother, his eyes hadn't broken their stubborn contact with mine. I could see that he saw me as a menace, and I was determined to be a force to reckon with.  
  
"Well Spot, I was wondering if I might ask you a favor, cause since Jack trusts you, I figure I can trust you, too." Spot turned his attention to my brother, calmly raising his eyebrow questioningly.  
  
"I didn't know anybody was wonderin' whether or not I'm trustworthy."  
  
"It ain't that, Spot. It's just, what I have to ask you is really important, and I don't wanna make a mistake puttin' my faith in the wrong guy." Patrick had my attention now, too. Looking up at him, I wondered what he was going to trust Spot with. Whatever it was, I pitied him for thinking he could count on this terrible boy, whose very existence vexed me at the moment. Spot sat down on a large wooden crate a couple of feet away, and my brother approached him, reaching behind him to grab me and pull me along. Once again, Spot gave that questioning look that seemed to make him feel superior to whoever he was talking to. Even my brother stammered a bit. "I - well, the point is, as much as I love Shortstack and all-"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Shortstack... y'know, Anabeth?" he said, gesturing to me.  
  
"Oh, fitting nickname." He shot me that triumphant look, and I defied him with my own glare.  
  
"Anyway, as much as I love her and would love to keep 'er with me, well, there just ain't any room in our lodging house. And well, I was just wondering if you'd, you know, keep her here for awhile?"  
  
In the same breath, Spot and I both spat out, "WHAT?" Surely Patrick was joking. He couldn't leave me with this unearthly creature, the only person in the world I despised. As Spot and I shared a quick look, I could tell he was also hoping my brother wasn't serious about this.  
  
"I mean, could you like, keep her at your clubhouse or something? Just until I can find a better place for her to go, somewhere that we can be together and I won't have to worry about her. It won't be a real long time, I've been trying to figure this out for awhile, as far as where she'd go when she left the convent."  
  
"Maybe she should have just stayed there." Spot Conlon clearly had no heart at all. "If we were all lucky, she'd have taken a vow of silence." I'm telling you, if Patrick hadn't had a firm grip on my arm, I would have slapped that content look right off of Spot's face.  
  
"Funny, Spot," my brother laughed nervously. I hoped he was as angry inside as I was. Spot deserved to be whacked upside the head with his own cane for what he was saying about me, and I felt that if Patrick had been talking to anyone else, he certainly would have done so.  
  
"You don't really expect me to take HER in, do you? I have too much to worry about without looking after a little brat like this." Spot stood up and shook that stupid cane of his in my face. He didn't want this anymore than I did, and perhaps the both of us could talk my brother out of his crazy idea.  
  
"Well, I know that she'd be safe here, until I can figure out what we're gonna do. Just think about it, would ya?"  
  
Spot's face looked deep in thought, I could see that he was heavily considering the consequences of taking me in or not. He began to pace back and forth in that annoying way he had, and the way his hand twitched a bit, I could tell he wanted a cigarette. As he paced, he kept glancing at me and shaking his head slightly. In my mind, I was wishing that he would just say no, and then we could leave and I wouldn't have to spend another moment with him.  
  
Finally he said, "Okay Mush, since you're friends with the Cowboy, I'll make you a deal." I cringed, and Spot didn't fail to notice it. "As I said, you owe me your sister. So I'll take 'er in, on the condition that she does whatever I say." Walking right up to me, he talked more to my face than to my brother's. "I let 'er stay here, feed 'er, and keep an eye on 'er. But she has to do what I say, exactly what I say." I must have looked confused and angry, because that's certainly how I felt. "I tell her to do something, she says 'Yes, sir' and does it. Our clubhouse has been needing a good cleaning for awhile."  
  
"No way, you stupid bastard! I'd rather sleep in the mud than do your damn cleaning!" You'd think Spot and Patrick had never heard anyone swear before, the way they were both looking at me after my outburst. In all my life, I had never seen my brother look at me with such surprise, and even Spot looked shocked again. They must have thought that a life in a convent had taken all the immorality out of me. "I don't let anybody order me around, especially a pig like you. You, Spot Conlon, are a sick, twisted, pathetic excuse for a human being."  
  
Patrick elbowed me in the ribs. hard. I could tell that he was thinking about revising Spot's deal, but caught sight of some of the Brooklyn Boys, completely ready to soak whoever their pathetic leader told them to. It was so sick that I wanted to hurl into the river itself, but I contained myself, instead I shot Spot a menacing glare.  
  
Apparently he'd heard these comments before (not that I'll say I was surprised in the least), as he hadn't even flinched, he didn't even look at me, "So Mush," He said, jumping down from his crate, revealing once again, his short stature that almost made me want to burst out laughing at the fact that he, of all people, could lead a gang of menacing Brooklyn newsboys that were feared throughout the entire city, "We got a deal?" He said, raising an icy eyebrow and spitting in his hand for Patrick to shake it.  
  
Patrick took a look at me, his dark brown eyes said, 'I haven't got a choice', and he spit in his hand and shook it with Spot Conlon's, saying firmly, "We have a deal."  
  
It wasn't long until my dear sweet, betraying evil brother left me at Spot Conlon's place. He, Jack Kelly, and the girl they called Fishface had all said goodbye to me, leaving a three last friendly kisses on my cheeks, telling me not to worry, that I'd be back in Manhattan as soon as they found some space for me.  
  
I looked around, the docks were almost empty, and Spot was in his clubhouse with the rest of the Brooklyn newsies who had finished selling the afternoon edition. The sun was dying and I knew I couldn't stay outside much longer, that I'd have to face him sooner or later. I might as well get it over with.  
  
I slowly opened the door to the clubhouse, trying to sneak past the boys up the stairs too, but to no avail. Spot's cold, heavily accented voice interrupted me, "You might as well," he called after me, "get started upstairs before me men want to sleep and you have to clean while they're all asleep with the lanterns out." I turned around and shot him a look, he just raised a cool eyebrow at me. I hated how he did that. I hated everything about him.  
  
I just stared at him for a moment then said, as loudly as I could, "Yes," then turned to go, but after he let out a little 'ahem' I turned around and added in a reluctant undertone, "Sir." Then I stomped up the stairs. I was absolutely going to MURDER Patrick for this. MURDER.  
  
The upstairs room was empty when I walked in, I could see it clearly this time in the day, with the raggedy curtains pulled back. There was a bucket, a water pump and a scrub brush tucked away in the corner. I pumped some water into the metal bucket, it seemed that nobody had used the pump in ages, as the water it produced was a murky sort of brown color. After a few pumps it turned clear as crystal, and I smiled. As soon as I had filled it, I took the brush, and after picking a few cobwebs out of it, I dipped it in the water and started scrubbing.  
  
Scrubbing that floor was hard work. I hadn't realized it the day before because I myself had been so dirty. The floor was practically caked over with dirt, and a square foot took me almost a full half hour to scrub off, and my handiwork still wouldn't have passed as 'up to par' at the convent, so I kept scrubbing.  
  
It had been almost two hours before I had heard anything, some soft steps coming up the stairs, after each two steps there was a hard rap of something on the floor. I grimaced when the cold icy voice interrupted the sound of my brush against the floor, "It works better when you use soap."  
  
I turned around, not that I had doubted myself, but I was correct in assuming Spot Conlon had come up to gloat. I shot him a look and just kept brushing. There was no need for me to talk to him, so I scrubbed the floor more energetically, trying to work out my frustration. After a moment, he hadn't said anything more, so I just said quietly, "Why don't you just do it yourself, if my way isn't good enough?" He obviously had not noticed that there wasn't any soap in the room, and I doubted there was any in the entire building judging from its appearance, not to mention the terrible smells. Besides, he hadn't told me HOW to clean the floors, just to do it, like I was some kind of slave. Turning around again, I stared at him, hating every breath of him. He didn't have his hat on anymore, and I could see that his hair was lighter without it. He almost didn't look like the same person. After a hateful glare passed quickly between us, I turned back again and stared through the floor. This stupid boy didn't care about me at all, he was just doing his best to make me miserable. I refused to believe that this is what Patrick wanted for me, that this is what he thought was best. Thinking about my brother, I remembered how just the night before I had thought I would burst would happiness. Now I felt as if I could die of grief. In spite of myself, I felt tears coming to my eyes. Trying to calm my emotions, I scrubbed the floor even harder, feeling as though I would scrub right through the wooden boards. But despite my efforts, I felt two teardrops slide down my cheeks, burning like hot metal melted down to nothing but liquid. I could feel his eyes laughing at me, and I felt ashamed for appearing so childish. Scrubbing floors isn't that bad, I told myself. But I couldn't stop thinking about how my brother had just left me here, where I was nothing but unhappy. I knew that Spot's condescending glare was still blazing at me. I stopped washing the floor and just sat there for a moment, holding back the sobs threatening to escape my throat.  
  
I didn't think that seeing my small body shake trying to contain my crying would win anything from him, and it clearly hadn't. All I heard was that cold, cruel voice say, "It's late. Just finish up tomorrow." Then I heard him turn and leave, hating every step I heard him take down the stairs. So I sat up there all alone, regaining my composure. After a few minutes, I noticed that my bucket of water was completely dirty, and decided I should stop. Going to the window, I opened it and breathed fresh air for a minute. Then, looking down at the dock, I noticed someone under the window, sitting there smoking a cheap cigarette. Clearly he hadn't looked up and seen me, and I thought I could hear him swearing under his breath. Grinning, I quietly hurried back and grabbed my bucket of water. Without a sound, I held it up to the windowsill. Biting my lower lip to contain my laughter, I turned the bucket over, letting all of the water fall out of it straight down. A split second later, I let go of the bucket, and ran as fast as I could back to the door of the room and locked it. As I had left the window, I had heard the greatest sounds, Spot Conlon being drenched and then his yelling loud into the night. 


	4. Chapter 4

I awoke the next morning to something jabbing me in the side. I rolled over and swatted my hand at it, trying to tell it to go away, that it was still nighttime and that I needed my beauty rest. However, it kept on, persistently poking me wherever it found convenient to bruise my flesh. I rolled over and opened my eyes. Looking down at me, once again, were those haunting green eyes. I hated him. He was holding the bucket I had dropped on his head last night, and poking me with his cane.  
  
I rubbed my eyes and looked back up at him, he looked smug. "Lose this?" he said bitterly, dropping the bucket next to me. I stared at him, attempting to bore my eyes into his, but the fierceness of his glare made me look away. Spot Conlon. I hated him.  
  
"You'd better get to cleaning," He said icily, it was even more cold and bitter than he had been the first night, when he called me 'garbage', "I want this place to shine like a brand new penny by the time I get back from sellin' today."  
  
I shot a glare at him, but catching his look I added, with all the sarcasm that I could muster out of my tiny, shaking body, "Yes sir." As he walked away, I picked up the bucket and slammed it onto the ground in front of the water pump, he turned around sharply and gave me a look. I. Hated. Him.  
  
He left without a word, and I started to work cleaning the floor again. Honestly, the work didn't really bother me much, I had done similar chores at the convent for years. But Spot wasn't doing this to get a clean clubhouse, and he certainly wasn't doing this to help Patrick. He wanted to humiliate me. He wanted to prove that he had the upper hand. So I viewed cleaning his clubhouse as a public flogging. Spot was punishing me, but for what I had absolutely no idea. All that I had done was get lost in Brooklyn, I hadn't even come to him willingly, I had been dragged. His anger towards me was completely unreasonable, and I thought about it for while. Maybe he didn't like me because I had a family, at least a brother, when he clearly didn't. Or perhaps he held some old grudge against my brother that I wasn't aware of. Whatever it was that he hated me for, I was determined to find it out, if only for the pleasure of possibly twisting the knife inside him to make him regret the things he'd done to me. Causing him an emotional pain close to the ones he had given me would give me a satisfaction like nothing else. I stopped cleaning for a moment to pray, knowing that my terrible musings were wrong. But you have to understand, Spot Conlon deserved it.  
  
The thought of hurting Spot gave me a rush of energy, and I began to scrub the disgusting dirt away from the floor with a fury. A little less than two hours later, I was done. I sighed, and looked around the room. "Wow," I said aloud, not having to worry about anyone hearing me, "under all that scum, there was actually a floor. It even shines a bit," I said, laughing. "All it needed was a little time and effort. If only everything was that simple." I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm, and got up. I decided against throwing the bucket of dirty water out the window, and carried it down the stairs toward the bottom floor. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. None of the Brooklyn newsies were back yet, I still had the place to myself. Examining the filthy room from where I was, I laughed disbelievingly. Spot didn't really expect me to clean this place, did he? At least not in an afternoon. Just thinking about that work made me yawn. I was still tired from having gotten to sleep late and being awakened early. I was hungry, too, but didn't see any means to fix that at the time. After emptying my water bucket into the river (the Brooklyn boys BATHED in that thing?), I decided to go back upstairs and take a nap, thinking maybe I could start on the downstairs later. Curling up on my tiny mattress, I went to sleep instantly.  
  
I'm not sure how long I slept, but when I did open my eyes groggily, the daylight was much dimmer than it had been when I decided to take a nap. Rubbing my eyes, I slowly sat up on the mattress.  
  
"Why didn't you do the downstairs?" Looking towards the doorway, I saw Spot leaning on it, standing there with that miserable smirk of his. How long had he been standing there? I had locked the door, I thought. Maybe that stupid key hanging from his neck had something to do with it.  
  
I yawned and stretched like a sleepy cat. "'Cause I give less than a damn about you and your floor."  
  
He didn't move, and his face stayed calm. I couldn't stand the way he did that, hinting at no emotion whatsoever. "Y'know, this would be a lot easier for both of us if you'd try and be a little more agreeable."  
  
"Me? Why don't we start on you and your rudeness, and your always bein' bossy, and how you're just basically a pain in the ass." As I spat this back at him, I saw his mouth twitch, almost as if he were about to smile. I realized that was completely impossible, and just sighed and rubbed my eyes again. I was in need of another bath, and there was no way I was going to jump into that ice cold river, especially since I couldn't swim. The clothes I had borrowed from Patrick needed washing too, or better yet, replacing. "I'll just... I guess I'll do the downstairs tomorrow." I couldn't believe I was giving in, but I just didn't feel like fighting with him. Maybe I'd be up for it after eating.  
  
"Fine." As soon as he said that, my stomach growled loudly. My face flushed, but I didn't understand why. Spot let out a small laugh, barely audible, but I heard it and my eyes shot up to his. I looked at him in questioning disbelief, and he returned my look mockingly. This made me laugh a bit in spite of myself. I looked up at him again, and his eyes were amused. But it didn't feel like they were laughing at me, they were laughing along with me. Then I remembered who I was laughing with, and my amused look became another icily cold stare. His face went calm again too, and he took that ridiculous cane out of his belt loop and walked over to me.  
  
"I guess I might as well make good on my end of the deal and feed you." He reached out his hand to help me up, and I carelessly took it.  
  
"I could use a bath, too."  
  
As he helped me up, he said flatly, "I noticed." I glared at him, my mouth dropping open at his rude remark. But before I could snap back at him, he held up his hands as if in defeat and said, "I'm sorry." He said nothing for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Look, you're not my prisoner, so if you want, I can take all the guys away and you can go take a quick bath out there in the river later tonight after dark." I couldn't believe it. Spot Conlon had just apologized to me. Had this really just happened? Maybe it was just a trick to come at me with a bigger insult. Then I thought of his offer, and I blushed again. "What?" His voice cracked a bit, and it almost made me smile.  
  
"I just - I - I can't swim..." I looked up at him, and his eyes were laughing again. But just like the moment before, it wasn't a cruel laugh.  
  
Spot shook his head and started to the door. I blinked at him for a second, wondering what was wrong with him. He turned around and stared at me, his look wasn't full of hatred, but it was still icy. Something about Spot Conlon, I couldn't quite place my finger on it, made him seem as cold as a slab of ice. He raised a cool eyebrow at me, with a simple, "You comin' or not?"  
  
I nodded and followed him down the stairs. There were a few boys in the main room, but contrary to my predictions of where we were going to eat, I followed him straight through the room out the door. I wondered where we were going, as I never noticed Spot leaving his docks or his clubhouse any time besides when he sold his papers.  
  
We stopped half-way up a street, and he told me forcefully to wait for him outside as he meandered into some sort of loud pub. I stood out in the cold, waiting for him for almost 20 minutes, whenever someone would walk by, I would do my best to blend into the wall, as the sun hadn't yet completely set and I could hardly be seen if I pushed myself against the wall and didn't breathe for a moment. There weren't many passersby either way so I didn't have to hide much.  
  
When he finally emerged he was carrying two small brown bags filled with some sort of food, I wasn't sure though. He pushed one into my hand and kept one for himself. I wanted to call him a selfish pig for keeping one, but a moment later I realized that he, however inhuman he could be, still had to eat.  
  
He sat down against the wall in front of the pub. I was a bit confused, I had thought we were going to go back to the clubhouse to eat. He looked at me in that way he had of staring me down and said, "Aren't you going to eat?" I reluctantly sat down beside him, but as far away as I could without seeming rude. I opened the bag, realizing that it was some sort of mush that you were supposed to eat with your hands. I wasn't quite sure whether or not it was lady-like, but I put my hand in and started eating. A moment later I realized it was some sort of rice and seafood mix. It had a foul smell, and an even fouler taste, but beggars can't be choosers.  
  
I looked over at him again, he perplexed me, one minute he's icy, cold, and brutal, the next he's offering to feed me, no matter how strange our dinner was, without making it seem like some kind of burden. Spot wasn't paying any attention to me, so I was free to take a good look at him for a moment. He reminded me of a book I'd read once, maybe a year before, at the convent. It was about a cruel and selfish king, whose enemies replaced him with his kinder, identical twin brother, who then ruled the kingdom justly. Maybe Spot Conlon had been replaced, perhaps he had a twin too. This thought made me smile, and he must have seen it out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to me sharply and asked coldly, "What?"  
  
"Nothing, I was just thinkin' a bit," I turned back to my bag of whatever it was, and tried to stuff another handful into my mouth without gagging.  
  
"Yeah, I know it's disgusting, but it's the best I can do for now, 'kay?" I must have looked ungrateful to him, because he sounded irritated.  
  
"I'm not complaining." I gathered my strength and put a bit into my mouth, chewed it up (not much effort needed there) and swallowed it slowly. "Thank you, for y'know, getting this for me." I looked away from his gaze, which seemed to be studying and judging me.  
  
"You know much about girls?" He suddenly asked me.  
  
For once, it was I raising a cool eyebrow at him, "I should like to think so." He gave me a sheepish look. I didn't think that he had one of those in him.  
  
"Yeah well, say there's this girl," He said, his hand starting to twitch again, he was nervous about asking me about this, and he looked as if he wanted a cigarette badly, "Not just like the girl of the week or anything..." I gave him a look of disgust when he used the phrase 'girl of the week', "But she's seein' someone else. And I mean.. it makes me want to pound the guy's head in, y'know? Get my hands dirty." He stuffed one of his fists into one of his hands as he said this, imitating a punch, "But you got too much respect for the guy."  
  
I gave him a sort of half-smile, half-smirk, "You're talking about Fishface, aren't you?" I said, almost as cool as Spot Conlon always was.  
  
He shot me a look, one of those looks that reminded me how much I hated him, "Yeah, so what if I am?" He snapped.  
  
"Hey, if you don't want my advice..." I said, resisting temptation to give him a wicked grin.  
  
He stopped me mid-sentence, "Sorry, sorry... Just like I was sayin', I kinda have troubles with... girls."  
  
So the boy had a weakness, though not a very unusual one. I had to admit though, the thought of him having one at all greatly amused me.  
  
"So, what exactly are you asking me... about girls, that is?"  
  
His hand twitched some more. "Well, how do I get, y'know, HER to notice me?"  
  
Inside I laughed, the great Spot Conlon coming to me for advice on how to steal someone else's girl. "I think she already does notice you, Spot."  
  
"Well, yeah, but I mean, she just..." he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase himself, so I did it for him.  
  
"Notices Jack first."  
  
Spot nodded, it had been frequent among my thoughts that day of why every boy it seemed noticed Fishface. Sure, she was pretty, and she seemed to be a nice person, but there wasn't anything truly extraordinary about her, She and I were just the same, yet I had no guys pondering over how they would get me to notice them, it didn't make much sense at all  
  
All of a sudden, some bizarre part of me wanted to comfort him, but I decided against it. I just sat there and took another bite of the slop he had brought me. Spot Conlon, no matter how many flaws he decided to share with me, was still inhuman... Okay, maybe he had a shred or two of humanity, but I still didn't pity him in the least.  
  
He stood up stiffly, his hand still twitching at his side as he pushed up on his cane, "We'd better get back before me men think we're doing somethin' immoral or somethin'."  
  
I rolled my eyes, thinking, 'You wish, Conlon...'  
  
I noticed he didn't offer me a hand to help me up, so I assumed he was irritated that I hadn't been able to help him plot against Jack's relationship with Fishface. We started walking silently towards the dock again, but I just wasn't in the mood to go back there yet. I felt like taking a nice, leisurely walk, since the sunset was looking awfully pretty considering all of the buildings on the skyline it was sinking down into. But I didn't say a word, until that one moment right as the sun tipped the top of the city's skyline before it would disappear from sight. I stood there, and watched it. Spot hadn't noticed that I stopped, and he kept walking for a few more steps before he noticed that I wasn't beside him. He walked back over to where I was standing amazed and smiling softly, and asked impatiently, "What are ya doin'?"  
  
"I'm watching the sun."  
  
"I can see that, but WHY?"  
  
"Because it's beautiful. Just watch." He must have thought I wouldn't go back unless he consented, and he sighed loudly and watched with me. We stood there for a few minutes, maybe ten, even after the sun had disappeared behind the rooftops and it was growing darker and darker. I smiled again, and he gave me a questioning look, raising his eyebrow. I looked back at him and said simply, "I feel sorry for anyone who's never seen something like that."  
  
Spot shook his head disapprovingly, but there wasn't really anything he could do to keep me from watching the sunsets. He stared me down, "Just 'cause I asked you 'bout Fishface and we talked and stuff don't mean you don't have to clean the downstairs tomorrow," he suddenly said coolly, turning to walk away. His saying this, once again, reminded me why I hated him.  
  
I watched for a few moments as he sauntered off. He was so arrogant. What made HIM leader of Brooklyn anyways? Why couldn't someone like Kerry have been leader? I shook my head and jogged after Spot, walking so close behind him that I was almost on his heels. When we returned to the clubhouse, Spot put on his usual facial expression and sauntered to his usual seat in the back of the main room, finally getting his greedy hands on a cigarette. I shook my head, he was sickly dependant on those things. Not to mention what a bastard he was. I shot him a look of pure hatred, but he just retaliated by raising that stupid eyebrow at me. I gave a huff and stomped to the back of the room. It was too loud to even bother trying to get any sleep, and I had gotten enough earlier, so I couldn't pass out from sheer exhaustion. I sat in the back of the room and watched the poker game until I felt something on my shoulder.  
  
I turned around sharply, then smiled when I saw who it was, "Hi Kerry," I said, then I gave him a once-over. He was black and blue all over, I grimaced, "What happened?"  
  
Kerry glanced around nervously, "Nothin' Shortstack." I wondered where he had learned my nickname, but it seemed most of the Brooklyn boys knew it already so I didn't ask.  
  
"You're alright though?" I asked him, very concerned, I remembered when he had told Spot off the other night and then the glint of anger that had crossed through Spot's fierce green eyes, then the quaver in Kerry's voice. I hadn't seen him in the past two days either, so Spot had had plenty of time to order some of his men to beat him. My disgust for Spot Conlon suddenly had a re-birth.  
  
"Yeah Bonnie, I'm fine," he said, taking the vacant seat next to me. I glanced over at Spot, he had joined the game of poker and was finally looking at ease with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, "Are you alright? I didn't expect you to be coming back to Brooklyn."  
  
"Me either," I said honestly, feeling an anger in me that wouldn't quit, I wanted to beat Spot Conlon right there in front of all his men, but he'd probably just whack me with his cane or something and I'd end up knocked out for days. Besides, my stomach wasn't feeling so great after eating whatever that mush he fed me was, "I have to stay here because my brother brought me here.. made a deal with Conlon." It felt good to call him by his last name, so much less personal, "I swear, I'd just about murder Patrick for this if he wasn't the only family I had."  
  
Kerry nodded as if he understood, but I could tell he didn't. I doubted he had ever known any of his family, he didn't seem like he had, just the way he held himself and spoke. I started talking again.  
  
"But him and Jack Kelly and," I grimaced as I said her name, "Fishface are going to come get me as soon as Patrick has a place set up for us."  
  
Kerry nodded, "Fishface.. that's Jack Kelly's girl, right?" I could tell that he was trying to follow my conversation desperately.  
  
I nodded, "That's her."  
  
"Conlon likes 'er." He said, perhaps a little bit more hushed than the rest of what he'd said. I nodded as I watched Spot Conlon for a few minutes. He looked upset, perhaps he had a bad hand. I watched him fold and take a big breath of his cigarette.  
  
The night wound down around midnight, most of the boys had run out of money to bet on the poker game, and they were getting tired. I followed Kerry up the stairs and he talked to me as I got to bed. I hadn't gotten my much- deserved bath, but the only way I was going to get it was to associate with the likes of Spot Conlon, and in that case, it could wait. After Kerry left to go back to the Newsboys Lodging House, I fell asleep, counting to five with each of my breaths. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Cookies go to.. Kelly! *hand Kelly a cookie* We're very glad you like our story, Twinny! *grins* Next cookie to Spatz, who is a WONDERFUL reviewer (and writer too!), *hands Spatz a cookie*, Then to Snooza, thanks for reviewing, we're uber glad you're diggin' our story *grins and hands you a cookie*, And FunkieChick, thanks, I (being Fishface) have a hard time characterizing Spot myself, but Shortstack does well with it *hands a cookie to you*, Lady Elwen, just wanted to say that I love your name *grins* And thanks for the positive review! *hands you a cookie*, and last but not least, to Deanie *hands Deanie a cookie* I'm glad you enjoyed the whacking cane bit, and we'll be sure to keep updating.. as we're addicted to writing this story. *grins*  
  
*Shortstack waves to everyone*  
  
* * * *  
  
I didn't awake the next morning with the rising sun or with the jabbing of Spot Conlon's cane. In fact, I do believe that I only awoke because some clod came into the upstairs room during the middle of the day and tripped over the bucket. I groaned as I turned over. Whatever Spot Conlon was feeding me, I decided, was making me quite ill. For a moment I mused with the thought that he was trying to poison me, but it came back to the reality that he had eaten some of that mush himself, and I was probably just allergic. Either way, I wasn't feeling up to moving... at all. For a few brief seconds, the sun stung my eyes and the air clotted up in my lungs, I rolled over and buried my face in the mattress, trying to gather up the energy to go downstairs and clean, but alas, I fell back to sleep.  
  
When I awoke, the light outside was dimming. I started to roll over but I realized that somebody else's soft hand was on my face. They were breathing steadily, as if they were asleep themselves. I opened my eyes. I almost jumped I was so surprised at who it was. Spot Conlon had fallen asleep, stretched out by my bed with his hand softly placed on the side of my face. All the contempt I had for him disappeared whilst he was sleeping. A peaceful look had come across his face, and he almost looked human with his eyes closed. I put my tiny hand on top of his, then closed my eyes, for some reason, not wanting to fall back to sleep.  
  
My hand must have disturbed his sleep, because I felt him moving slightly on the floor. I opened my eyes, just in time to see his begin to flutter open. His hand moved under mine as he awoke, and I felt a twinge of unexplained regret. His eyes opened, and immediately met mine. For some reason I didn't tear mine away. I just stared into those deep pools of green, happy that for once they weren't laughing at me. He didn't look away either, and I wondered what he was thinking. Suddenly it occurred to me what he must have thought I was thinking, and I jumped up, throwing his own hand at him.  
  
"What are you doin' up here?" Sitting up on my mattress, I tried to shout at him angrily, but only half-managed.  
  
He only rubbed his eyes, sitting up like me. "Well, I WAS sleeping."  
  
"What the hell was your hand doing on my face?" I did much better at faking anger that time, and I was really curious as to why he had been laying on the floor next to me.  
  
He didn't flinch at all, and his face was still calm even after waking up. "What the hell was your hand doing on my hand on your face?" His sarcasm deeply annoyed me, I demanded to know what he had been thinking coming up here and just stretching out next to me.  
  
I decided to challenge him back. "Well..." I gulped, "why did you look at me like that?"  
  
Those fierce eyes stared right into mine, making my cheeks feel warm. "Why did you look back?"  
  
I tried to reconcile myself with a cool glare, but turned bright red in the middle, "What time is it?" I managed to salvage, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled over the almost empty room.  
  
"Near eight," he said sleepily, "And you didn't get any work done today." He said curtly. I would have near slapped him if I hadn't been bedridden. He was so arrogant that I wanted to take him by the neck and strangle him right on the spot. I silently prayed for forgiveness for those thoughts.. again. If I kept around Spot Conlon too often, I'd be praying all the time.  
  
There was a light knock at the door, Spot looked up as it opened, and I laid down and rolled over when I realized who it was.  
  
Fishface. I hadn't wanted to see her, but she had a large tub in tow and there seemed to be some clothes inside it. I looked over at her, letting out a little groan and then rolling back over.  
  
I heard her voice quietly say, "Spot, could you give us some privacy? I mean, lock the door and all, I don't want none of your boys coming up here while I'm doing this for her." I wondered what Fishface was talking about but I didn't move or even make an attempt to ask.  
  
I heard Spot get up and start to walk out the door, the step, step, clunk of his feet and his cane bothered me, it wasn't as if he couldn't walk without it. I felt something cold on my arms. It took me a moment to realize that it was just Fishface, gently rolling me over.  
  
"Come on you, Mush made me come all the way down here to give you a bath, and I know you've got it in you to move a little bit, I heard you snapping at Conlon a moment ago," The sound of her voice made me want to be sick, I wasn't quite sure why though.  
  
I really didn't want her around if I was going to take a much needed bath, and tried my best to convince her to leave. "You don't have to do that, I can do it by myself." She continued to try and pull me off of the mattress, and I slapped her hand gently like a spoiled child. Fishface just kept trying to drag me. If I'd had the energy, I'd have pushed her away and sent her flying across the floor. "NO!" I was almost screaming at her, attempting to roll back over. In my tired and sickly state, she had almost twice as much strength as I did and got me to sit up. I just kept slapping at her arms, as if beating off weeds or vines all around the convent garden.  
  
"Now, now, why are you actin' like this?" This girl had a lot of patience, and I had none.  
  
Sighing, I gave in. "I don't know, honestly." I slouched over tiredly, as she began to pull my shirt up.  
  
A few minutes later, I was submerged in the tub, now filled with water instead of clothing. I hated having Fishface in the room, but I was deeply grateful to finally get a bath. Maybe I'd have been in a better mood if the water wasn't ice cold. I closed my eyes and just sat there soaking for a moment. The iciness of the water brought those green eyes into my mind, since they seemed so much alike. I remembered when he had lay there staring at me, his eyes didn't seem cold then. I couldn't put my finger on what they had been, but it certainly wasn't cold.  
  
"All right, let's wash your hair," Fishface's voice brought me back, and I relented to let her soak and shampoo my hair clean. At least she wasn't talking, and my mind was free to wander. But I kept wandering right back to that stare Spot had given me after he had awakened, and it made my cheeks feel strangely warm again. "You're startin' to feel warmer, maybe you've got a fever." Sure Fishface, I had a fever. I was content to let the girl think whatever she wanted, as long as she wasn't going to ask me any questions. We can't always get what we want, though. "So... has Spot got you cleaning the place for the party?"  
  
Great, now I had to have a conversation with her. "What party?"  
  
"You know, the party tomorrow night! For me birthday?"  
  
"A birthday party? Here? For you?" Oh, wonderful. Now she had ME asking the questions.  
  
"Yeah, Spot was nice enough to offer to throw me a party tomorrow, right here at his place. Ain't that nice?"  
  
"That is nice." Is THAT why he was making me clean his stupid clubhouse? So he could give this girl a birthday party? How typical of him.  
  
She was almost done with my hair. "Are ya gonna be there?"  
  
"I don't know... I may still be sick tomorrow night..." there had to be a way to get myself out of this.  
  
"Aw, I'd love if you were there. We could talk some more, get to know each other better, huh?"  
  
I sighed, "I guess I can try."  
  
"Wonderful!" Her cheerfulness was aggravating me at the moment, I still didn't know why though.  
  
"So... how old will you be?" I might as well at least have pretended to be interested.  
  
"Sixteen, can ya believe it?"  
  
I looked disbelievingly at her. "You're only gonna be sixteen?" She gave a smiling nod and finished with my hair. I couldn't believe she was younger than me, even if only by a few days. She seemed so much older, just the way she carried herself and with what seemed to be natural maturity. I had thought she was at least seventeen, like the Cowboy.  
  
The next day I was feeling considerably better. Fishface had brought me more suitable clothing, a calico skirt and a dark red blouse that buttoned up all the way to the top, and I had to admit, I liked the way she had braided my hair, although her excessive cheer was quite annoying in itself, I couldn't help but like her... just a little bit.  
  
I had almost finished cleaning the downstairs for Fishface's birthday party to be held later that night when the one and only Spot Conlon came waltzing in, mud on his shoes and rapping that cane against the ground as he crossed the barrier, not even having the common decency to wipe his feet.  
  
I gave a silent groan then turned from wiping off the top of one of the corner crates from cobwebs and looked back at the floor he had crossed, mud tracked all the way across it. I picked up the bucket, which I had luckily not yet emptied, and the scrub brush and silently started scrubbing the floor again. I swear, he must have thought I had gone completely off my trolley.  
  
The next words that escaped him were, "What are you doing?" He looked, almost bewildered. I was almost glad that I had started cleaning the floor he had dirtied up.  
  
"I'm cleaning up the mess on the floor Spot, what are you doing?" I said curtly, pushing the brush across the floor briskly, finishing cleaning the mud and going back to the crate I'd been dusting a moment before.  
  
Spot was silent for a moment, I turned around and stared at him, he was gazing at me, I couldn't read the look in his eyes anymore. I could only hope to God that he wasn't thinking I was garbage. Why? I'm not entirely sure.  
  
I stared at him briefly, "What?" I demanded, "I'm just cleaning up the stupid mess you and your lot left around here!"  
  
"Nothing.." Spot trailed off and picked up a cigarette. He turned and looked at me one last time, as if he were confused, I gave him a 'What the hell are you staring at?' look and he turned and walked out of the clubhouse, once again, leaving bits of mud across the floor.  
  
When I emerged from the upstairs portion of the clubhouse, I felt completely refreshed. I had dumped my cleaning water from scrubbing the floor out the window (but I did not get the pleasure of mauling Spot Conlon with the bucket this time) and filled it with clean water, which I used to wash my face. I used the window as a mirror as I braided my hair back into two French braids down the side of my head. I checked the mirror in the stairwell before I went down into what I could already hear was quite a party, from the loud Irish music to the stomping of some dancing feet, I had to admit, This was the best I had looked the entire time I had been staying in Brooklyn, and I was going to make sure that I rubbed it right into Spot Conlon's nose.  
  
When I finally made my way down into the room, I was taken in by a big bear hug. It took me a moment to realize that it was only Patrick. Of course he was coming to Fishface's party. They WERE good friends after all. I smiled, "Hi Patrick," I said softly, still feeling a little bit weak from being ill, but I didn't let him know that.  
  
"Listen, I brought somethin' for ya," he said, smiling and reaching into his pocket. I watched curiously as he pulled out a folded handkerchief and handed it to me. It felt heavy, indicating that something was folded inside. Looking up at him and raising an eyebrow playfully, I carefully unwrapped it. Upon unfolding it, I found a beautiful turquoise necklace with intricately decorated beads, tied together by a satin blue ribbon. I looked back up at him, shocked that he was giving me something like this. How did he ever get this? How in the world did he pay for it? As I stood there with my mouth open in wonder, he just grinned and said softly, "Happy Birthday, Shortstack."  
  
I felt like crying, he'd gotten a beautiful gift for me, and I hadn't been able to get him anything for our birthday. I smiled at him and said guiltily, "I didn't get you anything..."  
  
"It's okay," he put his arm on my shoulder. "I've got my baby sister back." I smiled again, if he only knew how unhappy I was in Brooklyn. But I didn't have the heart to tell him that what he was trying to do for me made me miserable.  
  
After a few minutes of talking with my brother, we were interrupted as a quick dance started, and someone softly touched my arm, I looked up at Kerry as he extended his arm to me, asking, "May I have this dance?" as politely as he could. I smiled and nodded, leaving Patrick by his self and joining Kerry on the dance floor.  
  
To be completely honest, I had never danced this way before, So I let Kerry totally take the lead. I was a bit uncomfortable at first, because at all the church dances I'd ever been to (there had been quite a few too), not even the most risqué of the couples had danced as close as Kerry and I were dancing. After the first few dances I shared with him however, I started to get used to it. In fact I rather enjoyed this risqué sort of dancing.  
  
Around the fifth dance, my eye suddenly caught something. Spot Conlon was standing in the back corner, all alone. We turned with the music, and I caught his eye. He seemed to be watching someone, I followed the direction of his eyes. Fishface. She was dancing with Jack, like she had been the entire night. Spot took another swig of his drink and turned around, once again, I lost his eyes in the crowd. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hey, it's me, Shortstack. This time, I'm the one doing the author's note *grin*. Oh yeah, cookies go to Angela and Abby *hands them each a cookie*! Well, in case anybody noticed that our rating went up from PG to PG13, it's mainly because of this chapter. The amount of swearing has been steadily rising, and this chapter is.. um.. yeah. Just read it, and you'll see. If it's a little... out there, just please forgive us. This chapter is VERY important, especially related to later events. Okay, every chapter is important, but you know what I mean. Anywayz, enjoy.  
  
* * * *  
  
I eased myself onto my mattress as the lights went off. I was tired from all that dancing and truth be told, I wasn't feeling very well at the moment. I unbraided my hair silently then lay down, still wearing the skirt and blouse I'd borrowed from Fishface, and closed my eyes. Even though I wasn't feeling my best, I'd still had some fun at the party. I had danced with Kerry, Patrick, and Jack Kelly. And best of all, I'd managed to avoid Fishface almost the entire night. Despite the fact that I did like her just a bit, I was in no hurry to talk to her again, unlike Spot, whom I had seen trying to approach her throughout the party. Either she hadn't noticed, or was choosing to ignore him. After awhile, he had disappeared and I hadn't seen him when the party was over and everyone had been leaving. Not that I was looking for him, mind you. Patrick gave me another big hug before he left, and in my heart I was wishing I could go with him this time.  
  
I was just barely still awake when I thought I heard the door open. I wondered if I was just imagining it, and sleepily looked at the door to make sure. It really was open, and the last person I expected was standing awkwardly in the doorway. From where he was, Spot Conlon looked groggily around the room, his expression dazed. His gaze finally rested on me, and he dizzily reached behind him and closed the door. I started to sit up, curious as to what he was doing upstairs in the middle of the night. He locked the door, and I was suddenly wide awake. I had noticed that since I had been in Brooklyn, no one else ever slept upstairs anymore, it was just me. Spot stumbled towards me, and then crouched down on his knees next to my mattress, where I was sitting, terrified of what he might do. Oh, God. I could smell the liquor on him. Kneeling on the floor, he tried to move closer to me, and I moved back farther on my makeshift bed.  
  
"Hey," as he spoke, his cold, green eyes were staring right at me. But they looked as if they were going right through me.  
  
"Hey," my voice was soft and flat. I swallowed hard, "What are you doin' here?"  
  
He reached his arm out and tried to grab me, but I jumped up and leapt for the door. Even drunk, Spot was still quicker than me and managed to catch up just as I reached it. I fumbled with the lock, but he grasped my wrists. Whipping me around, he pushed my back against the door. In my head, I went back to my first night in Brooklyn, when Kerry had shoved me against the wall in the dark alley, and I was just as afraid as I'd been that night. He planted his hands on either side of me on the door, so I had nowhere to escape to. His eyes were still blazing at me, and I shivered, struggling not to cry, or worse, faint.  
  
"I just wanted to say," he brought his face down unbearably close to me, and I could smell the terrible liquor on his breath, "you looked beautiful tonight. That's all I wanted." His eyelids were heavy, and I knew that he had no idea what he was doing. But as he kept inching closer, I pressed myself against the door, hoping that I could disappear through it somehow.  
  
But I knew in my heart that I couldn't move, he might try to kill me if I did. I could do nothing but choke back frightened sobs as I felt him come closer. After a second of eternities, I felt him brush his burning hot lips against mine, and it seemed as though he had drained the strength out of me with even the slightest touch. He moved back slightly, and I prayed it was over. God must have been busy, because an instant later Spot pushed me back and kissed me again. Only this time his touch was anything but slight, it was almost painful. He kissed me roughly, with a passion that seemed so completely unlike the Spot Conlon I knew, and it was as if a star had exploded in my mind. I felt a thousand emotions at once, the worst was guilt, guilt because suddenly I wanted this now. Maybe it was just the curiosity of never having been kissed before, but I actually wanted him to kiss me. He parted my mouth with his and I clutched at his face, trying to pull him closer. Our tongues began a dance of their own, and I slowly lost all will to try and resist him. I ran my fingertips down and back up his chest, sighing into his lips. I knew what I was doing, I knew who I was kissing, but it didn't matter. My world could end right then, it wouldn't have mattered, and I had a sinking feeling deep in my heart that it was. But just being there kissing him was everything I could have wanted it to be.  
  
I finally drew back from him, trying to steady my breathing, and fell back against the door. He rested his head on my shoulder, and I wished he had been sober enough to have realized what we had just done. Because of how weak I was, it was fairly easy for him to just pick me up and pull me over to the mattress. I wanted to fight back, but I knew that if I did, he might hurt me. My lack of resistance offered no problem to him as he pushed me back onto the mattress. He kissed me again, forcefully pushing himself on top of me. Spot continued to kiss me, and I continued to allow him to do so, but it wasn't long before he must have gotten a little bored, because his hands starting wandering. The only resistance I could offer was to grab his wrists and pull them down on either side of me. His lips released mine and he pulled away, but only an inch or so. Looking up at him, I could see the sweat beginning to drip down his face.  
  
Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Say that you love me." It took me a moment to register what he had just said, and I gazed up at him questioningly. "Just say it," he said more persistently.  
  
I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "I love you, Spot." I couldn't believe I'd just said it, I wasn't even sure if I meant it at all. And suddenly, I wasn't afraid of what he would do anymore. He leaned his head down onto my shoulder, and I closed my eyes.  
  
I felt him sigh and whisper softly in my ear, but not loudly enough for me to understand him.  
  
"What?" My voice was quiet, breathless as I was.  
  
He sighed again, trying to breathe himself, and whispered a bit louder, "I love you, Ruth..."  
  
My mouth fell open, and my mind snapped completely. What had he just said? Did he just call me "Ruth"? No, I said to myself, you made a mistake. But he dared to say it again, and I pushed him back a bit and glared at him, his eyes were almost closed with drunken fatigue. All of my strength came back as I shoved him roughly back, sending him sprawling onto the floor.  
  
"You son of a bitch!" I screamed with every bit of anger in my body, hating him just as I had before.  
  
"What the hell was that for?" he had sobered up a bit by his fall, and looked up at me in that stupid daze.  
  
I wanted so badly to walk over and kick him, or slap him across the face, but I didn't. Instead I stood up and said slowly and firmly, "Get out." When he didn't move, and continued to lay there drunk and confused, I screamed it at him as loud as my lungs could manage, "GET OUT!" He got up, and slowly stumbled to the door. I beat him to it and opened it, and he walked out, never breaking his eye contact with me. As soon as he was on the other side of the door, I pushed roughly against it, shutting it with a loud slam, and then locked it. He may have been sent flying down the stairs, I didn't know and didn't care. Turning again, I leaned my back against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. I brought my knees up and rested my chin on them, like a frightened child. Inside, I told myself not to cry, Spot Conlon wasn't worth that. I stayed that way for the rest of the night, finally being conquered by sleep and drifting away.  
  
When one has had such a night as I did, sunlight can be the last thing you want to see. Unfortunately, you just can't block it out. Waking still crouched up against the doorway, I slowly moved downstairs. The previous night's events came flooding back into my mind, and I pounded the side of the stairway as I descended it. I hated Spot Conlon, now more than ever. But I hated myself more, because I couldn't deny, even to myself, that I had enjoyed it. I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around the main room. It was a complete mess. Spot better not have expected me to clean up after those drunken pigs, especially him. I thought I was alone, but I have a way of being wrong.  
  
"Good morning," his sarcastic sing-song voice interrupted my thoughts and I turned to see none other than the lead drunken pig himself. I noticed his eyes first, they seemed hollow, not cold or laughing, or even smug.  
  
"Somebody's in a good mood," I responded bitterly.  
  
He looked at me and raised that vexing eyebrow, "Well, somebody woke up on the stairs."  
  
I mentally congratulated myself, but I changed the subject. Looking around, I simply said, "Nice mess."  
  
"Yeah," he said. "But you don't have to clean it up."  
  
"That's good, 'cause I wasn't going to."  
  
We were uneasily silent for a moment, then he stood up from his "throne," otherwise known as the stupid crate his pathetic ass deserved, taking out that ridiculous cane and walking over to me. I couldn't quite describe his expression, because it was one of his I hadn't seen before. He stopped right in front of me, and we stood there for a moment, each wondering what the other was thinking.  
  
It was me who broke the silence. "So who's Ruth?" I said it flatly and directly, demanding to know who she was. He gave me a confused look, but I knew it wasn't real. He remembered what happened, he just thought maybe I didn't. "Yes, I remember ALL of last night. If you remember correctly, I wasn't the one who was drunk." Whatever hope was in his expression vanished, as he realized that he had to be honest with me.  
  
"Listen, Anabeth," when he said my name, his voice sounded almost tender, if that was even possible. "I was drunk last night.. I didn't know what I was saying."  
  
"Well you sure as hell remember it alright!" I snapped at him, seriously considering snatching that GOD AWFUL cane out of his hands and whacking him with it.  
  
"Ruth was just a random name that popped into mind, Anabeth. I'm sorry for whatever I did.. and whatever I intended to do." He said, he looked as if he were trying to be kind to me. I just stared at him. He had called me 'Anabeth'. Not even Patrick called me by my real name. I sighed. I hated the fact that his apology had been sincere, and I, having been raised in a convent and naturally forgiving, had to accept it. I still tried my hardest to hate him, because no matter how sorry he was, he deserved it.  
  
I had stomped up to my room heavily after a few short words with him and grabbing a hunk of bread. I had pretty much stayed there all day as well, watching the comings and goings of the Brooklyn Newsboys on the docks. They didn't do much of anything interesting, but still, it was better than having to face Conlon again.  
  
As the sun was setting though, I was getting hungry. I slowly walked down the stairs, but I heard that obnoxious accent going on again. It took me a moment to realize that he was arguing with someone.  
  
"But he doesn't even know-"  
  
"My name, I know," came a second voice, I recognized it as the girl who had turned sixteen only that day, "I have to go Spot."  
  
"You'll come back won't you?" I took another step down as he said this. He didn't sound like the same boy who had tried to rape me the night before. I stepped into full view, but neither one of them was looking at me. Spot had his back turned to me, and Fishface was looking directly at him. She looked truly apologetic.  
  
"You know I will Spot." She said, trying to leave, but he grabbed her arm.  
  
"But Fishface.. I lo-"  
  
"SPOT." She said forcefully, before he could finish his sentence, "You know I love you," I let out a little gasp as she paused, "As a brother though Spot. Nothing more. I'm in love with Cowboy.." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, "I have to go now."  
  
"But.. Ruth-" He said as she walked out. Suddenly my mind started whirring, it felt as if everything had just exploded. He had just called her "Ruth".  
  
I closed my eyes. He had lied to me. Spot had been drunk. But he remembered. I had been wearing Fishface's clothes. My hair had been curly from being braided. It had been dark. He had pretended that I was Fishface. Everything he said and did, he had said it to her. Everything he had felt, he had felt it for her.  
  
"You.. son. Of. A bitch." I said, emerging from the stairwell, "You.. LIED to me!" 


	7. Chapter 7

Spot spun around and looked at me. Normally, I would have been civil to him, I might have even felt BAD for him after what he'd just been told. But I was too angry to even think about such things. He had pretended.... that I was FISHFACE. Oh, it was too much for me to bear.  
  
He stammered for a few seconds as I came down on him as a lion does to its prey. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for an escape. He didn't say anything.  
  
"Who's Ruth, Spot?" I demanded, recalling the conversation we had had that morning, "'Oh, just some random name, Anabeth. I'm sorry for what happened last night,'" I mocked his thick-headed accent with all the disdain I could muster. God, I could have strangled him right then and there. Him and his damnable cane.  
  
He stared at me for a moment, once again, I was plagued with the inability to read what he was thinking, "Shortstack," He finally managed to stammer out.  
  
"Yeah? Yeah Spot? Yeah, I'm listenin'," I snapped, "And I want to know what the HELL you were thinking this morning."  
  
Spot stared at me for a moment again, as if he were surprised that I'd sworn. I rolled my eyes. These boys had better be used to me swearing by NOW. "I.... I don't know Anabeth."  
  
"DON'T call me that, Spot Conlon." I snapped at him, now I was the one who was pacing around the room, "You have no right to."  
  
"I-" He started, I looked at him with a frown that said 'go on', "Look, I don't know what happened, okay? I knew it was you, but I didn't want it to be." That was too much, I just couldn't stand it any longer. Reaching up, I slapped him right across the face as hard as I possibly could. He didn't resist, he didn't fight back. He wouldn't even give me that much. Whatever reaction I had been hoping for, he was too arrogant to give me. He didn't say anything, but he had to have known how much he had that coming. I turned around and started to stomp off, but he interrupted me, "Look, Ruth is the one thing I could never have... I'm sorry Shortstack..."  
  
I glared at him. He, I had decided, was THE MOST cocky, arrogant bastard that had ever walked the face of this earth, with all my strength, I turned and hissed at him, "I hate you Spot Conlon." And I did. I really did.  
  
I half-ran, half-stomped outside. I had to get away from him. If I could've, I would have run all the way to the Lower East Side, and told Patrick everything. I just couldn't trust anyone else, I decided. Outside on the docks, I searched for a place I could be alone, and found a few boxes tucked together that I could hide behind. I sat down and tried to keep from swearing under my breath. I didn't even bother praying. Just who did Spot Conlon think he was, doing something like that to me? Did he even care about how I would feel? No, I told myself. That boy didn't really care about anything but himself.  
  
My moment alone was brief, and I heard someone say softly, "Shortstack?" I recognized the friendly voice, tried to smile, and turned around.  
  
"Hey, Kerry," I responded, secretly wishing I was still alone. Why was he always sneaking up behind me, anyway?  
  
He sat down next to me, and looked at me thoughtfully. I knew he could tell that my smile was fake. "What's wrong? I saw you come out of the clubhouse, and you looked really angry."  
  
"Kerry, I...." I stammered a bit myself, "I don't feel like talkin' about it right now. I just... I can't."  
  
In his naturally caring way, he replied, "Come on. You know you can tell me anything."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Did I really? Maybe I could confide in him, but now just wasn't the time.  
  
"What did Conlon do now?"  
  
I snapped my head back at him, taken aback. "Wh- What makes you so sure he did somethin' to me?"  
  
"I can see it, just by lookin' in your eyes." I gave him a once-over. Could he really tell what had happened to me, or was it just a lucky guess?  
  
"What else do you see?"  
  
He looked over at me, as if it were obvious, "Everything." He said quietly. He quickly glanced back at the river. "It's nice out here at night, you know. You can see Manhattan."  
  
I nodded, Kerry had never seemed the type to have said something like he just had, "Yes, it is very lovely." I said stiffly, "Makes me a bit homesick."  
  
He nodded, trying to understand, "My sister lives over there you know... it was good seeing her last night."  
  
I looked over at him, "Your sister?" I hadn't known he had a sister.  
  
"Yeah, you know," he said, tossing a bit of wood into the river, "Ruth. Fishface I mean."  
  
My jaw dropped. Fishface... and Kerry... were brother and sister? And Kerry worked for Spot, and Spot was in love with Fishface? What kind of sick game were these people playing with me? Inwardly, I wanted to strangle Kerry for telling me that, but outwardly I just tossed a bit of chipped off wood from the dock into the river, saying, "Sounds nice." I had even thought it before, that Kerry hadn't understood when I said that Patrick had been my only family in the world. I felt so embarrassed. Especially after he had just said what he'd said. Everything.  
  
I shivered. The cold January air was going right through my thin red blouse... or should I say Fishface's thin red blouse. Kerry gently pulled off his dark brown jacket and placed it over my shoulders. I looked up at him to thank him, but he'd looked away. I settled for a simple, "Thank you."  
  
"Listen," he glanced around, and then turned back to me, his expression serious. "Just don't let Conlon get ya down. He's always been like this, at least as long as I've known him, and he's really not worth anybody's trouble...." In the dark, I thought I saw his cheeks redden slightly, "Especially yours."  
  
I smiled, and without thinking, I leaned over and kissed Kerry on the cheek. "Thanks, Kerry," I looked affectionately at him, "it's nice to have at least one friend in Brooklyn." I turned back to the river, looking across it into Manhattan, wishing I was there with Patrick, but not entirely disappointed to be here with Kerry. Neither of us spoke, and I'm not sure how long we sat out there. But it had been dark for a long time when I decided to go back into the clubhouse, hoping to avoid Spot as I made my way upstairs.  
  
"I'm gonna go back inside... do you wanna go with me?" I asked him quietly. He just glanced at me and shook his head silently.  
  
"No thanks, I'll just stay out here for awhile."  
  
"Okay," I stood up and crossed the dock back towards the clubhouse. As I walked in through the door, I saw something that I never expected, Spot Conlon, alone on the floor, scrubbing it with a brush.  
  
Hating him as much as I did, I couldn't stop myself from speaking. "It works better when you use soap," I said bitterly.  
  
He looked up at me, his face calm, and responded quietly, "I deserve that."  
  
"You deserve a lot of things."  
  
He abandoned his scrubbing, and sitting back on his heels raised that cursed eyebrow at me. I didn't know what to say next, so we just stared each other down for a moment. I congratulated myself on being much better at looking into those fierce green eyes and not being intimidated. He sighed heavily and went back to scrubbing the floor.  
  
I finally decided to break the silence. "So...." I looked around at the empty room, "where's everybody?"  
  
Not even looking up at me, he responded simply, "They all went to the vaudeville show with the Manhattan boys, to see Medda."  
  
I had no idea who Medda was. "Did Jack take Fishface with him?"  
  
"Why do you care about where Fishface goes with Jack? Ya jealous of 'er?" He still hadn't looked up at me.  
  
"No," I decided to hit him below the belt, "but I noticed you were havin' a difficult time gettin' her attention last night."  
  
Spot didn't take his eyes off his scrub brush going back and forth on the floor as he sighed again and said, "Well, as long as we're commenting on each other's evening, I didn't see Kerry having any problems landin' YOU last night." I looked down, realizing that I was still wearing Kerry's jacket.  
  
Enough was too much. "For your information, Spot Conlon, the only thing that LANDED last night was you on the floor upstairs."  
  
Throwing his scrub brush onto the floor so hard that it bounced, he stood up and got right in my face. "What do you want from me? I apologized for last night, why can't that just be enough?"  
  
"No apology is gonna make up for trying to take advantage of me, all because your friend is with Fishface and you're not."  
  
He was just as close to my face as he'd been the night before, right before he'd kissed me. "Well excuse me miss, but I didn't notice much of a fight on your part either."  
  
That hurt. I felt a lump in my throat, I had no idea how to respond to him. What was I supposed to say? I really hadn't been fighting him. His expression changed slowly from anger to triumph. I realized that he knew, he knew that I had enjoyed it. He knew that when he had kissed me, I wanted it. I could feel tears coming to my eyes, and of course he saw them.  
  
His face suddenly softened, and he reached out and touched my arm tenderly. "Anabeth," there he went saying my real name again, "I'm really, really sorry." He stuttered. "I - I mean, what do you want me to say?" His eyes were bearing deep into mine, but now they didn't look so fierce. But I couldn't back down, I hated him too much.  
  
"Nothing," I replied firmly. I pushed his arm away, and turned for the stairs. Looking back at him as I started to go upstairs, I added, "There's nothing you can say."  
  
I went upstairs, closing the door silently, locking it even though I knew it might be in vain. A small part of me even wished that it might be in vain. Sitting down on my mattress, I watched the door for a long time, wishing that he would come walking through it, even if just to fight with me again. I wanted to see him walk in, carrying that ridiculous God awful cane, with that smug look on his face, even those green eyes I hated so much laughing at me. But they'd be laughing at ME, no one else. I cursed myself for not listening to Kerry's advice and for letting Spot bother me so much. I cursed myself for wanting Spot Conlon to come waltzing through the door, in that obnoxious way he had. I wanted to see him again, and I hated myself for that. I hoped that he would walk right upstairs and kiss me again, I wouldn't even fight him. I hated him for making me clean his stupid clubhouse, and then making me call him "sir." I hated that he had gotten me sick, feeding me that disgusting mush that he called a meal. I hated him for being in love with Fishface, even to the point that he was going to take advantage of me, pretending that I was her. I hated him for kissing me in the first place. I hated him for making me say I loved him, even if I didn't mean it, he had that against me now. But most of all, I hated him because I didn't want to hate him anymore. 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Oh, another one from Fishface! Oh, you KNOW you missed me and my.. COOKIES! I made them fresh this afternoon! Okay.. who gets 'em? Kelly does, for being.. the LEADER of our groupies! She even made us a Yahoo! Group.. if you get the urge to join, then DO! *hands Kelly a cookie* And Emily does! *hands Emily a cookie*, MegabeeAthlete, you get one too! They're super fresh! *hands you one* I can't decide who to feel bad for either. mostly I feel bad for Kerry, 'cause he's so nice, oh! Next cookie! Brooke Lyn, Here ya go! *hands cookie to you* Oh! Another one for Snooza, I KNEW you loved my cookies! *hands you one* or perhaps it was just the story ;) I'm routin' for Kerry too. He's so much NICER than Spot, don't ya think? Oh well, Next cookie! Angela! Oh, you knew you were just coming for the cookies! ;) j/k, thanks for likin' the story so much, here's your cookie! *hands you one* Oh, and we MUSN'T forget Lady Elwen, who will, I believe, be very pleased with this chapter *wink wink*, Here's a cookie! *hands you one* Awesome Cookies, aren't they? *eats the rest herself* Alright.. on to the rest of the A/N!  
  
We've decided that Kerry is.. FLUFF BOY. Why? Because he has ALL THESE INADVERTANT FLUFF MOMENTS! Bwahaha. I feel pseudo-evil for writing them too sometimes . oh well, He's a big teddy bear, right? Now! Who wants a Fluff- Boy t-shirt? *wears hers proudly*  
  
On to the fic.  
  
***  
  
I rubbed my eyes as the sunlight, once again, disrupted the peacefulness of my sleep. I rolled over, trying to hide my face from that dreaded light coming through the curtain lacking window when I heard someone quietly close the door behind them. I jerked my head up. Damn it. It was Fishface. She looked a bit different before, and she was carrying a basket of clothing. She glanced over to me, looking apologetic when she realized she had woken me.  
  
"Sorry Shortstack," She said, "Didn't mean ta' wake you up like that." Her voice was abnormally soft for her, and her eyes were a little bit blotchy, as if she had been crying. I sat up, scratching my head.  
  
"No, that God awful sunlight did it again," I said, my speech a bit slurred from not being totally awake. She looked like she felt a little better, but that didn't lift my suspicion that she had been crying. She set down the basket she'd been carrying and sat down on another of the makeshift mattresses in the room. Quietly she wiped one of her eyes. I raised my eyebrow, "What's wrong?" Though I wasn't completely in favor of Fishface being in my room at the time, I, having been raised by nuns, felt that when someone was crying, the right thing to do was to ask what was wrong.  
  
'Nothin' Shortstack," She put on another one of her million-dollar smiles, but it seemed tainted, as if something was missing, "I'm fine." She stood up and picked up her basket again, "I was gonna ask, do you have any laundry?" I checked the basket she was carrying. Yes. It was filled with laundry. Most of which I recognized as Spot Conlon's. I shook my head, not sure whether to be totally disgusted or sympathetic. Either way, Fishface was acting very strange.  
  
But I didn't ask anymore questions, and she didn't say anything as she left. While I braided my hair, I wondered what could possibly be wrong with her. Could it be Spot again? That boy had a way of making people miserable. But she hadn't seemed this upset the day before when she had walked out on him. Something else was wrong, and for some reason I wanted to know what it was.  
  
I went downstairs, hoping to see Fishface in order to figure out why she wasn't her usual cheerful self. But she must have left already, so I just went outside onto the dock. All of the newsies had gone to sell, so I was alone. I tried to think of something I could do until they got back, but the only thing that came to mind was cleaning that disgusting floor, which I was not about to do.  
  
It must have been hours before the sound of that damnable cane rapping on the dock as Spot Conlon returned from selling his papers interrupted my thoughts. I turned around and saw him standing not three feet away from me.  
  
"G'afternoon Spot." I said, trying my hardest to be cold.  
  
"Shortstack," He nodded in an awkward greeting to me.  
  
I hated that no one else was around to talk to, but I really didn't have a choice. I wanted to ask him what was wrong with Fishface, but in the back of my mind I didn't want to discuss her with him again.  
  
I relented, curiosity was eating at me. "Do you know what's wrong with Fishface today?"  
  
"Yeah, she told me this morning." So she was still talking to him. He was quiet again.  
  
"Well, are ya gonna tell ME?" I asked impatiently.  
  
"I don't know," he looked slightly smug, but I couldn't figure out why. "Why does it matter to you anyway?"  
  
"Fine, don't tell me," I said, turning back around.  
  
He didn't say anything for a few seconds, and then he said quietly, "The Cowboy's leavin'." I turned around again, surprised.  
  
"Where's he goin'?"  
  
"Santa Fe, stupid bastard still can't get that outta his head," he smiled a bit. I rolled my eyes, for a moment forgetting why Spot was so bitter to Jack Kelly. "Yeah," Spot continued, "He said he'd send for 'er when he's got some land or somethin'. Asked me to look after 'er."  
  
I nodded, looking out on the same river I'd looked out on with Kerry the night before, it somehow looked different with Spot. With Kerry it was a barrier, taking away the things we wanted, with Spot it was an obstacle, something to get over.  
  
I turned back and looked for him, but he'd already walked away into his clubhouse. A part of me was glad to be alone again, but the other part wished he hadn't.  
  
After re-braiding my hair after dinner, I emerged from the upstairs room and walked into the main room of Spot's clubhouse. He was still sitting on that "throne" of his and had one hand idly holding the gold tip of his cane, in the other he held a cigarette. His gaze was, once again, on Fishface, who was sitting in the corner with her brother, who seemed to be trying to comfort her. I decided to join them.  
  
"Hello Fishface," I nodded politely to her as I approached them, "Kerry," I nodded to him, and he smiled at me.  
  
"Hello Bonnie," He said softly. Kerry seemed so much different from the first time I had met him in the alleyway, for one thing, he was always so soft spoken. For another, he kept calling me 'bonnie'.  
  
"Hi Shortstack," Fishface said, almost in a monotone. No matter how much Fishface's obsessive cheer had annoyed me, her depression was starting to annoy me even more.  
  
"So... Spot told me, about Jack leavin'..." I tried to sound sympathetic.  
  
"I knew he would."  
  
Suddenly, I felt sorry for Fishface. I had seen her with Jack that night in Manhattan, and then again two nights ago at her birthday party. She was in love with him.. so why'd he leave her? Oh this was all to confusing for me to handle, so I changed the subject. Later on, Fishface and I retreated to the upper room of the clubhouse, which Spot had so courteously ordered none of his men to enter. Not that they had been recently in the first place, but he had done it with Fishface in mind. Not me. As usual.  
  
She was straightening the blanket to her own makeshift mattress when I realized that she was crying again. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, was that ALL she was going to do until Jack sent for her? I closed my eyes. Great. This "raised by nuns" thing was getting almost as obnoxious as Fishface's crying. I got up and put my hand on her shoulder, "Hey, come on, Cowboy'll send for you soon."  
  
Fishface turned and looked at me, her eyes were not only blotchy, but they were welling up with tears, "I just. miss him so much." She sat down, and I, as if in turn, sat down next to her, it was then that I realized that trying to comfort Fishface would only be in vain, but I could always try, right?  
  
"You'll just have to wait, Ruth," I said, trying my best. Her head snapped up and she stared at me.  
  
"How'd you know my name?" She said, raising her eyebrow, in the exact manner that Spot Conlon had of raising his eyebrow at me. It unnerved me.  
  
"Spot let it slip once or twice." I said, trying my best to sound nice, but whenever his name escaped my lips, my tone almost automatically went cold. She nodded. Another pang of sympathy from Shortstack to Fishface. She looked so lost and confused without the Cowboy. In a way it confused me that she couldn't survive on her own, but in a way, I felt so bad for her. I remember seeing the way he looked at her. Spot had looked at her in a similar way, but the way Jack had, was so much more pure. I remembered the way they had sat in the back of the Manhattan Newsboy's Lodging house and whispered in each other's ears. Suddenly I felt another pang, yet it wasn't one of sympathy. It was a pang of jealousy of what Fishface had with Jack. She had Jack, she had that all-pure love with him, AND she had Spot Conlon hanging on her every word. It made me almost want to puke.  
  
She shook her head for a moment, as if she had been thinking something to herself and then cursed herself for thinking it, "I'm going to sleep, Shortstack. I'll talk to you in the morning, m'kay?"  
  
I nodded, standing up and walking over to my own mattress, the same one Spot had pinned me down on two nights before. I turned and looked at her, she had her eyes closed but her body was still shaking from crying. I blew out the candle that illuminated the room and lay down to sleep.  
  
The next morning when I awoke, before I had even opened my eyes, I heard someone else in the room, breathing steadily. I realized that someone must have been sleeping close by, and my eyes flew open, almost hopeful that I would see Spot laying there on the floor next to my mattress just like before. But all I found was Fishface, sleeping a few feet away.  
  
Getting up quietly, I braided my hair again and left the room, making sure to be quiet. The last thing Fishface seemed to need was to be bothered right now, and I did feel bad about what happened to her. I headed downstairs, meeting Kerry on the way down. He was sitting on the bottom step, and I sat down next to him.  
  
"Good morning," he looked upset, so I tried to sound cheerful, hoping it might influence his mood too. "How ya doin'?"  
  
"Not so good," he didn't look at me, just stared straight ahead in thought. "How is she, though?"  
  
I sighed heavily, "Devastated."  
  
"I was gonna go up and see her, but Conlon said nobody goes up there."  
  
"Not even him?"  
  
Kerry looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head. "You know," he said slowly, as if unsure, "you never did explain what went on yesterday, why you were so angry at him."  
  
I smiled a bit. "I'm always angry at him."  
  
"But it was... different, yesterday. Do you feel like talkin' about it, yet?"  
  
I stared right into his eyes. I had never noticed how blue they were, almost as blue as Fishface's. "Kerry, I - I just can't tell you what happened. It's something I'm gonna have to just keep to myself."  
  
He took my hand and pressed the back of it to his lips gently. "Okay, but you know that if you ever need to tell anyone, I'll always be around."  
  
Smiling, I nodded. "I know." This time I did. "You're a great guy, Kerry, and a great brother, just like mine."  
  
"Thank you." He still hadn't let go of my hand. Slowly I broke away from his eyes, and he softly kissed my hand again before letting it go.  
  
"Listen Kerry, I'm going to go get something to eat, do you want to come with me?" I asked him, in all actuality, I had been hoping to run into Spot on the way for some food, but having Kerry with me would be good company. He was a lot easier to talk to anyway.  
  
But he shook his head, "No thanks, I think I'll just wait for Ruth, I'd like to talk to her." I nodded and left him at the bottom of the steps. Who knew how long it'd take Fishface to wake up? I didn't even know how late she had gotten to sleep, as far as I could remember, she'd still been sobbing softly as I drifted off to my own little dream world.  
  
When I walked out of the clubhouse, my mind was elsewhere. I didn't know exactly where I was going to go to get the aforementioned food, but I was sure I wasn't going to that pub that Spot Conlon had taken me to. When BANG. I fell flat on the ground.  
  
That hurt. I closed my eyes and fell all the way flat. "Okay, I'm dead!" I pronounced as loudly as I could, wondering how many stares I was gathering. I opened my eyes to see a curly headed boy staring down at me. He looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place his name.  
  
"I am so sorry!" He said, offering me his hand to pull me up. Politely I took it and stood up, brushing myself off.  
  
"That's perfectly alright," I said, for some reason not feeling very snappy that day, "You look. incredibly familiar." I said, still trying to place his name.  
  
"You do too."  
  
"The name's Shortstack."  
  
"Oh!" Suddenly, he remembered who I was, and I was just ITCHING to remember him, "You're Mush's sister!" I nodded.  
  
"I'm Skittery." He said, "You probably don't remember me. I live with your brother." I smiled, finally I DID remember him.  
  
"How's Patr-Mush doing?" I asked, very anxious to hear his answer.  
  
"Ah, so-so. He's been sellin' pretty good though, tryin' to get an apartment I bet." He smiled.  
  
"What're you doin' in Brooklyn?" I questioned him, regaining some of my composure.  
  
"Just came to do some business Jack left. bring some o' Fishface's stuff too. She had a lot of it y'know." He trailed off after a minute, "Well, I'd better go. Nice seein' yas again." He stepped past me, picking up another bucket of little trinkets that I supposed belonged to Fishface.  
  
I turned around and called to him, "Hey, Conlon won't let ya see 'er unless she comes down, so you might wanta drop that stuff with him. She didn't sleep much last night."  
  
He turned around and smiling, nodded. Then he started to saunter off towards Spot's clubhouse, which had become, once again, almost unbearable dirty. And I was off to get some breakfast, as of yet, alone. 


	9. Chapter 9

With no idea where I was going to find any breakfast, I wandered a bit away from the dock, my first time really leaving it since Spot had taken me to get that disgusting stuff for dinner a few days before. There were several pubs and restaurants along the streets nearby, but I wouldn't have been welcome in any of them with no money in my pocket. I was growing hungrier, with no means in sight to fix the problem. So after about an hour, I gave up and headed back towards the docks. But I soon realized that going off by myself wasn't such a good idea, I found that I wasn't exactly sure how to get back.  
  
Walking towards the direction I thought the docks might be in, I felt someone grab my arm and turn me around. The first thing I thought of was my first night in Brooklyn, when Kerry had surprised me in the same way. But I was sure that no one would do something like that in the middle of the street in the broad daylight. Turning around, suddenly I wasn't so nervous anymore.  
  
"Spot Conlon, what are you doin' sneakin' up on me like that?" I pulled my arm away from his grasp, trying to walk off.  
  
"Hold it," he chased after me and jumped in my way. "I'm not letting you run off and get lost again."  
  
"And what makes you think I'm lost?" I tried to stare him down, but he gave me a knowing look. "All right, so I don't know how to get back, but I would've found it eventually."  
  
"I'm sure, probably about the same time some guy like Kerry would be hangin' around waitin' to take ya off the streets."  
  
His sarcastic tone was aggravating. "Tell me, Spot, why do you keep bringin' up Kerry?"  
  
Spot didn't say anything, he just looked around awkwardly. I saw his hand twitch in that annoying way and he changed the subject. "I oughta just call off this deal, don't know why I even agreed to this. What does Mush think I am, some kinda babysittin' service?" He looked straight at me hatefully, "I gots better things to do than look after ya."  
  
"Oh, but you don't complain at ALL about havin' to keep an eye on Ruth? When are you gonna open your eyes, Spot?"  
  
"Look," he pointed a finger at me, shaking it in my face, "you better shut up, cause you don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Mainly because there's nothing to talk about. She don't love you, Spot. She loves Jack, and there ain't nothin' you can do about it."  
  
"You think you know all about me and my problems? You don't even know what's going on with your own brother," he swore under his breath.  
  
What kind of trick was he playing? "What are you talkin' about?"  
  
"I'm talkin' about the REAL reason Mush don't want his 'baby sister' around right now. He's not lookin' for somewhere for ya to go, he's gettin' his kicks with a girl back in his neighborhood. Daisy or somethin' like that."  
  
I glared at him, refusing to believe what he said. Patrick wouldn't send me away and lie about it. He would've told me the truth if he was seeing someone, and even if he was he would've kept me around anyway. He would have, wouldn't he? I was his baby sister, his twin.  
  
Gulping, I choked out, "You're lying."  
  
"Keep dreaming."  
  
"Patrick... wouldn't send me away just so he could be with some girl. He - he wants to find somewhere for me to go, so I won't be so far away from him anymore. Why would he think he had to do somethin' like that? I'd understand..." I trailed off, on the verge of crying.  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, you ain't the easiest person to reason with."  
  
I stumbled over to the side of the nearest building and collapsed beside it, sinking to the sidewalk. Spot sat down next to me, undoubtedly to get a better look at my tears, knowing they were his fault, and I'm sure he took a great pride in that. All I did was sit there and cry for a few minutes, and he sat there and watched me, or looked around to see who else was watching. But I didn't care.  
  
Not even sure what exactly I was crying about, I let several tears flow gently down my cheeks. Had my brother really sent me away just to have time with a girl, or was this just something cruel Spot Conlon had thought up? What right did he have to be cruel to me, anyway? He had hurt me in the first place, and he should have been sorry for it, not gloating the way he was. After I had no tears left, I sighed and leaned back against the wall.  
  
I needed to see Patrick, and Spot was the only person who could help me at the moment. "Spot?" I didn't look at him, but I saw him turn to me out of the corner of my eye. "Can you take me to see Patrick?" Looking over at him, I could see uncertainty in those eyes. "Please?"  
  
About a half hour later, he and I were crossing the bridge over the river on our way to Manhattan. Neither of us had spoken since we had started out, and it had been a thoughtful and uncomfortable silence.  
  
"I..." he began, and I glanced at him, "I'm sorry for what I said. It - it really wasn't my place to tell you about... your brother." I started to speak, but he wasn't finished. "I mean, I'm not even sure if that's the real reason Mush asked me to look after ya, I could just be... talkin' and assumin'." He certainly sounded apologetic, but he had fooled me with that before.  
  
I had nothing to say, so I just nodded my head and he continued rattling. "I'm just mad, I wanna hit something or... hurt somebody." He looked straight at me. "It's easier to take everything out on somebody like you. 'Cause you're right, I don't wanna admit that Ruth is... completely out of reach. I know that she's with Jack, I know that she loves him. But it's just - this thing practically eats me from the inside, for some reason... I just can't help how I feel." All I could do was look down at my feet.  
  
The lodging house was almost empty when we arrived; I was sure all the Manhattan boys had gone out to sell their papers. All was empty except for Racetrack Higgins and a girl I didn't recognize laying together on one of the top bunks, apparently talking together. We glanced around for a moment before Race sat up.  
  
"Hey, Spot," He said, taking his cigar out of his mouth, "What're ya doin' here?"  
  
Spot smirked, as if trying not to crack up from seeing Racetrack lying around with a girl, "Just escorting Shortstack to see her brother. seen Mush lately Race?"  
  
Race grinned, "Yeah, I seen him. He went out to sell some papes and go see Daisy though." Immediately he looked as if he'd regretted that last bit of his sentence. I shook my head in disbelief, then walked out of the room.  
  
It wasn't but thirty seconds before all three of the people who had just been in the previous room came after me. I didn't know the girl, and frankly I didn't care to. She looked pretty, but what had I expected from Racetrack? I didn't think he would run around with some hag, did I? No, none of these boys ever did.  
  
"Come on Shorts," Race said, "Mushy's been lookin' for a place for you two, really, no matter what this idiot told yas."  
  
Spot looked at him and smacked his arm, a bit insulted but a bit playfully as well, I could tell that Spot and Racetrack had been friends for awhile.  
  
My eyes darted back and forth between Racetrack and the girl standing beside him. She had long brown hair, almost as long as Fishface's, but hers was straight. She also had pretty sea green eyes. I tried my best to smile at her. Racetrack's words were comforting after what Spot had told me before, and I was starting to feel a little better.  
  
The girl smiled back at me, flipping a bit of hair out of her face, "I'm Kelly," She said, she had a pleasant accent, not so hard to understand as most of the boys', "It's nice to meet you."  
  
I gave her a better smile than I had offered before, "Anabeth Meyers." I said, shaking her hand softly.  
  
"Mush talks about you a lot," I was getting pseudo-used to the fact that everyone called Patrick "Mush", but I for one, wasn't going to pick up on the habit, it didn't make much sense to me anyways.  
  
Racetrack smiled and put his arm around Kelly's waist, "She's mine Spot, so keep your eyes off," Kelly blushed and whispered something in Race's ear. I rolled my eyes, what was it with these people and couples? Was everyone but me paired off? Race continued, "So how's Fishface been doin', I saw 'er before she left, and she seemed pretty upset 'bout the Cowboy leavin'."  
  
Spot nodded, "Yeah, well Jack-y Boy did the right thing leavin' 'er with me. Ain't no life for a lady anyways, goin' out west and not havin' no where to sleep."  
  
I looked at Racetrack, who was nodding thoughtfully, "No it ain't," He said, "But he'll send for her soon. Somehow I don't think Cowboy's gonna be that long till he finds a ranch. He had a lot of money saved up from over the years." I think I noticed a part of Spot's smile vanish. Go figure.  
  
I heard the door open, and in walked Patrick, what perfect timing. He looked at me, almost as if he didn't recognize me. I could tell he hadn't been expecting me to ever come see him. He just stood there in the doorway, looking at me strangely. Patrick, I thought, just come hug me and tell me you always wanted to take care of me, that this wasn't a matter of choice. But my brother continued to stand there, as if he knew why I had come to Manhattan, that whatever he had been keeping from me had been uncovered.  
  
Gulping, all that he seemed able to say was, "Shortstack.." and then he trailed off. As if on cue, Racetrack pulled Kelly out of the room with him, and when Patrick stepped out of their way, they closed to door behind them. I glanced at Spot, he hadn't moved or made any attempt to try and leave. He looked quickly back at me, and then said, "Hey Mush, it's uh, my fault that we're here," he looked at me again. I didn't want to admit it, but he looked almost gallant somehow. "I um.. I kinda let it slip about Daisy, only on purpose." Patrick's face fell, and he stared at me guiltily. The only thing I could do was look right back at him, wanting to cry on someone's shoulder. But as I glanced from Patrick to Spot and back to Patrick, I realized that I couldn't choose whose shoulder I wanted.  
  
"Anabeth," Patrick walked over to me, but he didn't hug me. His eyes were apologetic as he shrugged his shoulders and said slowly, "I'm really sorry. But look, what's going on between me and Daisy has NOTHING to do with my takin' care of you, all right? I swear, if there was a way you could stay here, I wouldn't give it a second thought." He finally took me in his arms and held me for a moment. "I just.. didn't wanna tell ya about Daisy yet, cause I was so glad to have you back," I felt tears beginning to escape my eyes as I laid my head on his arm, "that I didn't want you to think you had to share me or somethin'." I looked over my brother's shoulder, and saw Spot standing about two feet away, staring right back at me. I wondered what he could be thinking about. "You're always my number one girl," Patrick stepped back to look at me, "right?" Still crying, I nodded, trying my best to smile. I wasn't sure if I could entirely believe him about this Daisy, whoever she was.  
  
When we were on our way back from Manhattan, half way across the Brooklyn Bridge, Spot stopped and looked over the side. I raised an eyebrow at him, "What're you doing?" I asked him.  
  
"Watching the sunset," he said. I tried to figure out if he was mocking me or what. I couldn't tell from the look in his eyes. I just rolled my eyes and joined him, looking out over the bridge.  
  
It was a few minutes before the sun had completely set, and I was, once again, in awe of the majesty of it, and also, in awe of the beauty of sharing it with Spot. I glanced over at him questioningly, the last time we'd watched a sunset together, he sat there impatiently and mumbled about getting back the entire time. This time he had been the one who had stopped me and made me watch it.  
  
"What? I'm not a sensitive guy?" He said defensively, when he saw my look, "I'm allowed to look at sunsets, ain't I?"  
  
I nodded quickly and we started walking again. It wasn't long before he started up an idle conversation, "So, you lived at a convent? They feed ya right there?" he asked me. No one had asked me about my life at the convent since I left.  
  
"Yeah, they fed me right, never got me sick," I said stiffly, but not coldly.  
  
Spot nodded, "Y'see, Anabeth," (why'd he keep using my name?), "That stuff gets everyone sick the first time they eat it. ain't too good for ya for one thing, but once ya got it in your system a few times, ya start ta stay healthy."  
  
I nodded, and he continued, "You have any friends back at the convent? I mean like, a best friend or a. boyfriend or anythin'?"  
  
I couldn't keep from laughing, "A boyfriend? Living in a convent, those are mighty hard to come by." He looked at the ground, obviously a bit embarrassed, and then smiled at me. My heart nearly stopped. He hadn't smiled at me like that before, and it was almost as wonderful as a sunset. I tried to start talking again, afraid of stuttering like a fool. "I had a couple of friends, not really any best friends. I preferred to keep to myself, read or something like that." I smiled again, "You know, a few days ago, you reminded me of a book I'd read, just the way you were actin'."  
  
"What's the book about?" he seemed genuinely interested.  
  
I didn't think twice about telling him. "It's about this king, and he's young and cruel and incredibly selfish," apparently it hadn't crossed my mind that I was most likely insulting him a bit. "And his enemies, they rescue his identical twin brother from prison and replace the mean king with him. The brother is really nice, and becomes one of the greatest rulers in the nation's history." I looked at him, and he was raising that eyebrow questioningly.  
  
"I remind you of that?"  
  
"Well, yeah, in a way..." I trailed off and just stayed quiet for a minute.  
  
"Um," he sounded unsure of himself, "do you still... hate me?" Before I could say anything, he kept going. "Cause if you did, I'd understand, I mean, I'd hate me too. But, I'd really rather you didn't hate me, it would probably make this whole thing easier."  
  
I hated that he still thought of me as something he had to deal with. "Honestly, I'm not really sure..." He looked disappointed. "Do you still hate me?" We were almost back to the docks, and the streetlights were the only thing helping me to see his face in the dark.  
  
Spot stopped walking and looked me directly in the eyes. "Anabeth," my name sounded so good when he said it softly like that... "I never hated you... I'll admit you WERE a little difficult," we both smiled, "but I never hated you." He paused, and his green eyes looked almost hesitant, as if he wanted to say something more but wasn't sure if he should.  
  
Before he could say anything else, I quickly reached up and kissed him gently. I ran my lips across his, and it felt even better than I remembered. Maybe this time it was only my grief over what had happened with my brother that made me kiss him, but it still felt amazing. Our kiss was shorter this time, I pulled back only a few seconds later, hoping the darkness would hide my blushing. I couldn't even look up at him, I stared down at the sidewalk.  
  
He touched my cheek with his hand, bringing back that wonderful memory of him sleeping next to me when I was sick, and when I had awakened to the same gentle touch. I glanced up at him, smiling shyly, feeling like some ridiculous schoolgirl. His eyes had that same look as they had when we'd woken up next to each other on the floor, and I could feel my heart pounding, the sound almost deafening me. As he leaned down and kissed me, the softest and most wonderful touch I'd ever felt, I knew in my heart that I no longer hated Spot Conlon, and that I never could again. 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Ah, an author's note from Fishface. I just wanted to share with the world that when Shortstack wrote the end of the last chapter (9, with all that darned fluff), and I read it, I literally stopped breathing. Why is this? I'm not quite sure, but I did turn purple for a few seconds. Shortstack killed me with the fluff. LOL. Yeah so anyways.. COOKIES! They're yummy, right? *hands them out to the multitude of reviewers* Kelly, of course, Anna C., MegabeeAthlete, Angela, Nicole, Lady Elwen (oh I still love the name!), Merideth, and Deannie! Oh! *hands out Fluff-Boy T-shirts* *giggles*  
  
It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.. :-D  
  
On to the fic..  
  
***  
  
The next day had been unbearably sticky out from the rain over the night, but nothing could get my spirits down. Nothing that is, except for Spot Conlon. Sure, I didn't hate him, and I even verged on the thought that maybe I hadn't been lying when he had me pinned to the mattress and forced me to tell him I loved him. He was just the way he had been before that day, not like the day before, when we had watched the sunset together. when we had kissed.  
  
I was sitting out at the edge of the dock when I felt his hand on my shoulder; once again, he had snuck up on me. I didn't quite understand how he did that, but he was starting to scare me with it.  
  
"Hey Kerry," I said lightly, looking up at him briefly then back to the river, "How's Fishface?"  
  
Kerry sat down next to me, "She's," He paused, "Alright considering. I mean, if the girl I loved ever went away," He paused, "I'd be worse than her about Jack leavin'."  
  
I nodded, "If I were in love," I paused, "Which I'm not, I would be crushed by it too." He nodded as well, as far as I could tell, this conversation wasn't going anywhere.  
  
Kerry suddenly put his fingers softly on top of mine. I didn't mind all that much, it just took me aback a bit. It was just a friendly gesture, that's all. I smiled. Secretly, for a moment, I wondered what had happened to Kerry. Why he lived in Brooklyn, why he and his sister lived like this. But then again, so did I, and no one had ever asked me, so perhaps it was considered rude to ask.  
  
He smiled sheepishly, leaning back on one arm, his other hand still on top of mine. I couldn't help but smile at his expression. But the fact of the matter was, Kerry was getting to be more difficult for me to read than Spot Conlon.  
  
"You know," He said quietly, "When I'm with you, nothing seems wrong." He laughed, "Pretend that was normal of me to say, Alright Bonnie?"  
  
I smiled at him again, "Alright, I'll pretend it was." I winked at him.  
  
"So um.. what's goin' on between you and Conlon today? Can't remember a day you two haven't started with an argument."  
  
He was right, Spot and I hadn't talked at all. I had seen him that morning before he went to sell his papers, but we hadn't said a word. He'd barely looked at me. I hoped that he wasn't going to pretend nothing had happened, but it certainly seemed like he was. Sometimes I just couldn't stand that boy. I guess I looked angry suddenly, because Kerry burst out laughing.  
  
"What?" he couldn't keep me from laughing along.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just you suddenly looked furious at somebody..." he stopped laughing but not grinning. "What were you thinkin' about?"  
  
"Conlon," I replied. Saying his name, my mind drifted back to the night before, when he had kissed me under the streetlight. It had been wonderful when I had kissed him, but when he had willingly pressed his lips to mine, the feeling was indescribable. Obviously, I had unintentionally smiled.  
  
"Now what are you thinkin' about?" Kerry asked me again, still grinning widely.  
  
"Conlon..."  
  
His grin faded, and he gave me a look that I couldn't place. He looked hesitant and yet confident at the same time. I was confused, until he leaned in closer to me a bit. Oh, no... I didn't want Kerry to kiss me, but I couldn't stop him. With everything happening to him and his sister, I just didn't have the heart to stop him. His kiss was gentle and soft, it felt like a butterfly had landed upon my lips. So I let him kiss me, my mind beginning to see a pair of green eyes staring at me, weakening every muscle in my body. I suddenly pulled back from Kerry, angry at myself. It wasn't fair to let him kiss me while I thought of Spot.  
  
I couldn't look him in the eyes, I glanced over Kerry's shoulder, and my mouth fell open in shock. Standing there like a statue, he didn't move as he glared at me with those fierce eyes, making me feel ashamed.  
  
"Spot..." was all I could choke out. Kerry turned and looked at him, and Spot just stared me, I could tell he was fuming by the way he was breathing loudly. We all stayed frozen, Kerry looking nervously at Spot, Spot glaring furiously at me, and me struggling not to let tears come to my eyes. What had I done? Thinking about it, I really hadn't done anything wrong, but I just felt terrible.  
  
Spot finally turned and stomped off towards the clubhouse. I gave Kerry a quick look, begging him with my eyes to understand, and got up and followed Spot. Entering the clubhouse, I looked around, and saw him standing with his back to me, still breathing heavily as if trying to contain his anger.  
  
"I... I don't know what happened..." I tried to find an explanation for what had happened, but there really wasn't one.  
  
He didn't turn around. "Makin' up for sixteen years in a convent, are ya?" His voice was hateful, and I knew I didn't deserve that. Why was he even angry at me? He had kissed me, and then pretended nothing had ever happened.  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
Now he turned around. "What's wrong is that first you kiss me, then you kiss him, like it's nothing at all."  
  
"So you're saying it WAS something?" I raised an eyebrow at him mockingly. "Besides, you've been ignoring me all day, why should I be sorry?" I sighed, "Look, Kerry kissed me, there wasn't anything I could do about it."  
  
"I didn't see you fighting HIM off, either," I couldn't stand that boy sometimes. "And... last night, that was just something that happened."  
  
"Really? Who were you pretending I was that time?"  
  
Spot stood right in my face again, but I didn't flinch. "Will you shut up about that already? That's over, okay? It was a mistake," his hand twitched a bit and he swore under his breath.  
  
"A mistake? That's what I was?" I was really hurt, but I couldn't show him that.  
  
He turned around, "Don't you go twistin' my words, Anabeth."  
  
"Yeah well that's what you said, Spot," I said as icily as I could, trying my best not to start crying. He shot me a glare.  
  
"Didn't they teach you not to mess around with guy's heads at the damned convent of yours?" He snapped, then he turned and walked coolly out, step, step, thump.  
  
I closed my eyes. His last comment hadn't stung as much as his usually did. It lacked his usual fire. I turned and walked out of the clubhouse. Not exactly after him, but over to Kerry.  
  
He turned and stared at me, wide eyed, "I'm sorry, Shortstack, I really am," It was odd; Kerry didn't call me by my real name like Spot did. It made it seem so much less informal. I gave him a little half-wince.  
  
"That's okay Kerry," I said quietly. He looked completely crushed. I wondered why but then it dawned on me, I didn't exactly kiss him back. I nodded quietly at him, then said, "I need to go. think for awhile, I'll see you later, okay?" I said, then I went back into the clubhouse and up to the top floor.  
  
All was quiet except for the breathing of Fishface, who was absentmindedly staring out the window. She looked up when I walked in and then went back to looking out the window. Her looking away made me want to murder her. Spot loved her. if it had been her, it wouldn't have been a mistake. With me, everything was a mistake for him. I was just like the dirt under his fingernails. Dirty and annoying, yet impossible to get rid of. Trust me, if I could have left, I would have.  
  
Kerry. my thoughts trailed back to him as I lay down on my mattress, he was the only real friend I had in Brooklyn. Sure, no one but Spot had been particularly mean to me, yet no one had offered their friendship like Kerry had. I didn't even know his last name. I sighed and covered my face with my pillow, trying to block out the now steady sobs coming from Fishface's side of the room.  
  
I heard the door open. I didn't even pretend to be interested in who it was, I just buried my head farther under my pillow and blended in with my corner mattress. Then I heard his voice, "Hey, you alright?" I looked up to snap at him, 'No' but I realized that he was talking to Fishface, and had either not noticed I was in the room or was purposely ignoring me. Either way, he paid me no mind as he sat down next to Fishface on her mattress and put his hand lightly on her arm. "Maybe if you eat somethin'," He said. Inwardly, I thought, 'No Fishface! Don't do it! It'll make you sick! Then he'll come in and-' I stopped my thoughts as Fishface's voice interrupted.  
  
No thanks Spot," She said shakily, I watched them for a moment. Spot looked genuinely concerned about her, I wished he was that concerned about me, "Have you seen Kerry? How come he hasn't been up to see me?" She asked him quietly, but I could still hear her. She knew I had come in. Maybe she thought I was sleeping.  
  
Spot looked at her softly, I hated that he did that to her, hated that he cared about her, more than he cared about me. I was just his mistake. I fought back a few tears. "I asked the boys not to come up and bother ya." He said to her caringly. He hadn't cared enough about me to ask them to leave me alone. Just Fishface.  
  
I sighed, closing my eyes, but I couldn't block out their conversation. "Spot, can you send my brother to see me?" Spot looked a little frustrated, but eventually, he agreed that Kerry would be the only one of 'his men' to go to the upper room of the clubhouse. Of course, this didn't keep Spot Conlon himself from intruding.  
  
Luckily, Spot left soon, and I didn't have to deal with his whining anymore. What was this obsession he had with Fishface? Clearly she wasn't interested in him, but he just wouldn't give up.  
  
Laying in bed a few hours later, I pondered why it was that Spot was hell- bent on trying to convince Fishface to leave Jack for him. I wondered if it secretly annoyed her, because she never seemed to have much of a reaction. Perhaps she was used to it. But I had never known anyone to strive so hard for attention from the woman he loved, and I wasn't even sure if he really loved her or he just thought he did.  
  
Maybe I was just angry. I mean, just the night before he had been with me, kissing me gently under a streetlight. Now he had gone right back to Fishface, making me feel used and discarded. I felt tears begin to form in my eyes, and I squeezed the edge of my mattress trying to force them to disappear. Spot Conlon wasn't worth my tears, not after the way he was treating me. Why did he play games with me? What kind of sick pleasure did he get from twisting me in the palm of his hand and throwing me down to the floor? Rolling over on my mattress, I remembered when he had kissed me on it, and tried even harder to keep from crying, knowing that if Fishface heard me she would ask what was wrong. I couldn't tell her what it was that had me crying late at night. I remembered what Kerry had said, that Spot wasn't worth my time, and tried to make myself believe it. After what seemed to be years, I managed to find sleep. All night I envisioned that someone's arm was draped over me, keeping me safe and warm and comforting me.  
  
When I awoke, I rolled over on my mattress, trying to adjust my eyes to the sunlight. It was incredibly bright, so I knew it must be near noon. I could hear the newsies outside, most of them back from selling their morning papers. Glancing around sleepily, I saw that Fishface had already left. As my eyes drifted to the floor next to my mattress, I saw a beautiful bouquet of flowers resting there. Mostly white daisies, the arrangement smelled freshly cut and wonderful. Inhaling the scent, I sat up and picked them up off the floor curiously. There was a small scrap of paper folded under them, and I opened it and read the scratched handwriting.  
  
"Hope you slept well, you look beautiful when you're asleep. I wanted to apologize for yesterday. Please forgive me, I really am sorry. I love you."  
  
I closed my eyes without reading the name at the bottom of the paper, half of me not wanting to know who it was from. But after a moment, I opened them and read his signature and smiled. Of course, who else could it be from? Inside, I think I had known that he cared for me all along, but I didn't realize that he loved me, the way he had seemed to be trying to hide it. Thinking back, I remembered how we kissed, and recalled all the affection that he had poured into it.  
  
Standing up, I walked over to the window, clutching the flowers in my small hands. Looking out over the docks, I searched for him with my eyes. As I found him, I smiled and breathed in the flowers' fragrance again. For a few minutes, I wondered over what to do now. What would I say the next time I talked with him? Making up my mind, I decided that it didn't matter. I wasn't going to wait around anymore, now that I knew how he felt about me. Remembering the looks in his eyes that I managed to catch occasionally, I thought that perhaps he'd felt this way since we'd met my first night in Brooklyn. Still smiling, I ran towards the door.  
  
Any doubt I still had faded as I descended the stairway, not being able to get outside fast enough. Reaching the doorway of the clubhouse, I stood there and watched him. He looked wonderful. After a second, he turned around, and stared back at me standing there with his flowers in my hands. I walked up to him slowly, grinning like a child. He looked down at me as I stood in front of him, his eyes repeating everything I'd read in his note. I glanced around quickly, everyone was watching the two of us standing there, as if they didn't believe it. But I didn't care who saw. One more quick glance around, my eyes meeting with another pair for an instant. Reaching up and pressing Kerry's lips to mine, the last thing I saw was Spot Conlon a few feet away, his eyes going wide with surprise. 


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Alright. Anna is going to. Wyoming. My God. Save me. Well, that's besides the point, we won't be able to update as frequently, sorry mates, but We just can't do it so quickly when one of us is more than half way across the country. *Shrug* BUT! I will be writing my Specs fic! Yes I will! If you get anxious, search under the rlyles@knology.net email and bother me there. I love reviews. Thanks. ---Fishface.  
  
On to the fic.  
  
***  
  
I softly rested my head on Kerry's broad shoulder and smiled, "Thanks Kerry.." I trailed off, not exactly sure what I was going to say. He was quiet, but he softly put his strong arms around me.  
  
He was quiet for a few more moments, until I heard his soft Scottish accent, the one I had thought was so gruff before, softly kiss my ear with his words, "I love you." I closed my eyes. For a moment, I thought that it couldn't get any better than this.  
  
I suddenly blushed, realizing that I hadn't even freshened up before running out onto the docks to see him. I smiled and whispered in his ear, "I need to freshen up, I'll see you when you're done sellin', okay?"  
  
He nodded then softly kissed my cheek, "Alright, see you later."  
  
I filled Fishface's tub with water from the pump then slowly shampooed my hair with a bit of her shampoo that she had let me borrow. Fishface really was a handy person to have around, with all that stuff she had, and especially with her disposition being "I don't care about anything until I have Jack back, so sure, use my tub, use all my shampoo, there's no use looking nice anymore". She lived that too. Though she sickeningly enough still looked great with her hair pulled into a sloppy bun and her clothes all wrinkled around her. But it didn't matter to me anymore.  
  
It felt good to be clean again, I smiled, getting out of the tub and re- dressing. I had just started re-braiding my half-dry locks when I heard the door creak open. Spot Conlon.  
  
Turning back away from him, I smiled. Even he couldn't ruin my day now. I'd left my flowers from Kerry on my mattress, alongside his note, and I heard Spot walk over to it, and I saw him pick up the note out of the corner of my eye. I could tell he was reading and re-reading it, until he finally folded it and tossed it back onto the mattress.  
  
"So..." I could tell by his voice that was going to attempt to rope me into another argument, "you and Kerry?"  
  
"Me and Kerry," I replied flatly. "Jealous?"  
  
He raised that icy eyebrow at me once again. "Me? Jealous of Kerry?"  
  
"Jealous that I have a chance to be happy, and you're still followin' after Fishface... pointlessly, I might add. She ain't gonna give up Jack for ya, so you might as well find somebody else." I stared back at him. "Not that you'll have much luck findin' anyone with that attitude of yours."  
  
"But you wouldn't like me any other way, would ya?" I wanted to slap that smug look right off his exasperating face. If only he hadn't ever kissed me...  
  
Glaring back, I spat out, "I wish I hated you."  
  
"Ooh, I'm shiverin' all ova, doll-face," there went those green eyes again, right back to laughing at me. I had nothing to say back, so he took the opportunity of having the upper hand to make his exit, him and that stupid cane.  
  
I shook my head and sat down, picking up the flowers again and burying my face in them, letting their sweet fragrance engulf my senses. A sweet smile crept across my face. Kerry loved ME, When he kissed me, he kissed ME, and when I was with him, I was happy. I giggled, leaning back onto my mattress. Kerry loved me.  
  
I was descending the stairs when I started to hear them yelling. I wondered why I couldn't hear them upstairs; usually I could hear everything going on down there right through the thin floors. I shrugged, but stopped dead in my tracks when I heard who it was.  
  
"It ain't none of your business what I do, Conlon," I heard that Scottish accent snap, It was no longer soft as it had been when it had whispered in my ears, when it had told me it loved me. I leaned in, curious as to what was going on, but not wanting to be noticed.  
  
Then Spot's voice came in, "It is damn well my business what my boys do, MacKilligan." THAT was Kerry's last name. It sounded right. Kerry MacKilligan. "Mush told me to watch over Shortstack, and that's what I'll damn well do, and if you don't treat 'er ri-"  
  
"What?" I heard Kerry's voice suddenly interrupt Spot's rampage, "Treat 'er like you do, Conlon? Like dirt? Like GARBAGE?" He demanded. I suddenly gained a new admiration for Kerry. He had noticed how Spot was treating me; he had stood up for me. I smiled, even though I knew it would mean that Kerry would be in trouble later, I was proud of him.  
  
There was a silence over the room, Kerry had the upper hand. Suddenly I heard Spot spat out, "You don't know what happened between me and her. She kissed ME, MacKilligan." I jumped back. Was Spot THAT desperate for a comeback? I slowly turned the corner on the stairway and appeared. The first eyes that mine caught were Kerry's. He had been facing the stairwell, and Spot had his back to me. Kerry smiled softly at me.  
  
Spot spun around and stared at me for a moment, his eyes looked almost frantic, as if he was trying to decide whether or not I had heard what he'd just said. I raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked directly past him towards Kerry. "Hey Kerry," I said lightly.  
  
"Hey Shortstack," He said, grinning ear-to-ear. I had to smile. He had a nice smile, it didn't make me want to melt, but it made me want to smile back at him, and that was something.  
  
Spot looked around angrily, I could tell from his eyes, though his facial expression hadn't twisted in the slightest. He was angry as I walked over to Kerry and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  
  
Kerry seemed stiffer than usual though. Perhaps it was because he was arguing with Spot. And soon enough, I knew in the back of my mind, he was going to be physically fighting with someone else. But I banished the thought. He stiffly placed his arms around me and smiled when I didn't pull away.  
  
Spot left in a huff a moment later, with his usual beat of step, step, and then the rapping of his cane on the floor. He slammed the door like a frustrated fourteen year old. Oh how I remembered the times I used to do that when one of the Sisters would make me do extra chores for the day. I smiled softly kissing Kerry on the cheek and pulling Kerry to sit down next to me on one of the many crates sitting randomly around the room.  
  
"You must be tired," I said softly, not really sure what to say after hearing him stand up for me like that.  
  
Kerry grinned sheepishly, "Just a bit," He said honestly, "I missed you." It was one of the most honest, pure things I had heard since I had come to Brooklyn. He had missed me.  
  
"I missed you too," I said, and it was true, while he'd been gone, all I had done was smell his flowers, and read his note over a million times. He thought I was beautiful. He missed me when we were apart.He loved me.  
  
I paused for a moment, his blazing blue eyes had a different look about them, he was tense, maybe even scared, "Thanks. You know, for what you said to Spot, about him treating me like garbage." I said quietly, touching his arm.  
  
"Any decent person would've done the same," He said, blushing, but obviously very proud of himself for standing up to Spot Conlon, "He was treatin' a lady like garbage, and it ain't right to do that."  
  
I smiled in gratitude. Kerry was truly a good person. The only good person in Brooklyn as far as I was concerned.  
  
I don't remember how exactly it happened, but I found myself kissing Kerry again. His lips were soft, and he kissed me with a passion that only the purest know of, even though the kiss only lasted few seconds, it seemed to last an eternity. An eternity of joy. He loved me; I could see it in his eyes. I could feel it when he touched my hand, when he kissed me.  
  
Our lips had only just separated when Patrick suddenly walked in. He saw Kerry and me sitting together on the crate, and he smiled at us. We grinned back, we'd been caught.  
  
"Well, well," Patrick shook his head and laughed. I jumped up and leapt into his arms. He held me tightly around the waist as I dug my fingers into his arms, not able to pull him close enough. I was just so happy, I had to hug Patrick as closely as possible to try and let some of my joy flow into him. I had something wonderful in my life now, and as always, I wanted to share it with absolutely everyone.  
  
Patrick grinned when I released him. I heard Kerry say over my shoulder, "Hey Mush." Mush. I wanted to know so badly why they called him Mush, but I didn't ask.  
  
Patrick nodded back to Kerry, "Hey MacKilligan." He said friendlily, I smiled, and pulled my brother over to where Kerry and I had been sitting. Patrick looked happy, "I just came to check up on my sister." He smiled and pushed some of my hair out of my face. I realized that I never had actually braided it after Spot had intruded on me after my bath.  
  
I smiled; it was good to see Patrick. He looked happy. Well-fed, well- groomed, and smiling, that was how Patrick should always look. Though I knew that he didn't always, I was glad that he did right now. I was glad that everything was the way it was right now. I glanced at Kerry; he had been absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the crate where he was leaning on them. I softly placed my tiny frail hand on top of his large rough one. He glanced over at me, his blue eyes smiling at me. Beaming. I grinned.  
  
Apparently Patrick caught sight of this, because he started laughing. I blushed and with my other hand covered my face and shook my head.  
  
Patrick turned to Kerry and said, "Hey, can I have a moment alone with me baby sister?"  
  
Smiling, Kerry replied, "Sure, if I can get two moments alone with her later." They both laughed, and I just blushed, trying to hold in my smile. Kerry kissed me on the cheek, stood up, and walked out of the clubhouse. Patrick jumped up onto the crate where Kerry had been, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.  
  
"So..." my brother tried to think of what to say.  
  
"So..." I mocked him, and he kissed me on the forehead.  
  
"How are things goin' around here?"  
  
"They're all right. Today has been a better day than usual."  
  
"They treat you right? Spot, I mean?"  
  
I hesitated. I really wasn't sure how to answer him. Should I just tell my brother everything, about how Spot had been treating me terribly and even about when he had tried to rape me? But then, what would that have gained? I decided to keep it a secret, never wanting my brother to know that I had actually enjoyed letting Spot Conlon kiss me.  
  
"He treats me all right, doesn't hit me or nothin'." Looking up at Patrick, I forced a smile. "We tolerate each other, I guess."  
  
Reading my mind yet again, he could sense that I was uncomfortable with the subject. Grinning, he asked, "So, when did this uh... 'thing' start with Kerry?"  
  
I couldn't resist flashing an honest smile this time. All day, whenever I thought of Kerry, I smiled. "This mornin'. He left me some flowers, told me he loved me." I closed my eyes happily.  
  
"I'm glad you're happy, you deserve to be."  
  
I didn't open my eyes, "I'm not so sure about what I deserve."  
  
He stroked my wavy brown hair lightly, and I silently wondered if Kerry and Fishface ever had moments like this, "You deserve everythin', Anabeth." I suddenly realized that I liked it when he used my real name.  
  
God, he was naïve. I didn't deserve any of this. I didn't deserve Kerry MacKilligan, I didn't deserve Patrick Meyers, the only thing I may have actually deserved was scrubbing Spot Conlon's clubhouse. Patrick was the one who had grown up on the streets, not me. If either of us deserved anything good to happen to us, it was him. 


	12. Chapter 12

Kerry softly pushed my hair out of my face as we sat out on the dock again, staring across the East river at night, the streetlamps flickered with the wind silently. He seemed so quiet that night. His dark brown hair was blowing back off his face with the wind, but mine was blowing all into my face. It was about to storm. There was one of those silent calms, that last ten minutes, those beautiful calms before the storm, the moment where the entire city of New York is silent, and then the rain comes down.  
  
"Kerry," I whispered, he looked at me with those big blue eyes, they were so honest and pure, just like him, "How come you live here? I mean, with Conlon and stuff?"  
  
Kerry looked hesitant, his eyes darted back and forth, and he looked away from me, back out onto the river. "My dad died when I was eight. Never knew my ma." He trailed off for a moment. I wasn't sure if he was going to add anything else, "Warrick was leader back then, I never understood why he picked Spot to be leader when he left. He was a good man. Never did wrong by none of his boys."  
  
I nodded, "You like it here though?"  
  
Kerry shifted around nervously, "Yeah, I guess it's alright, you know where I wanta go though?"  
  
I looked up at him and smiled, "Where?"  
  
He smiled, picking up my hand and kissing it, "Back home. to Scotland. I was born there, y'know." I smiled, I could tell by his accent, but it was nice to hear him talk about it, "Lived there 'til I was six, and Bonnie, it was one of the most beautiful places. much better than New York."  
  
"I bet it was," I said softly, wishing I had some place like that to talk about.  
  
"We should go one day, Bonnie," He smiled, "Just you and me." He was just musing with himself of course, but the thought was nice. We sat in silence for a few minutes.  
  
I smiled weakly, but he didn't say anything more about it. He just stared quietly out onto the East River, lightly humming a tune under his breath. "What are you humming?" I asked him quietly. He looked over at me and smiled. He had the nicest smile. It made me. want to smile back at him. And I did.  
  
"Just this song," He said softly, once again, pushing some of my hair out of my face, I almost cursed myself for not braiding it, but I realized how much I liked it when he brushed his calloused fingers across my face so lovingly, He started singing softly, his voice was smooth as butter, but he kept where no one but me could hear him, "By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes; where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond; Oh we two have passed so many blithesome days; On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond; Oh ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road; and I'll be in Scotland afore ye; But me and my true love will never meet again; On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond." He blushed and hung his head, laughing and holding his hand up to his forehead embarrassedly, "It's been in my head for weeks now, keep humming it while I'm sellin', when I'm eatin', I bet I even hum it when I'm sleepin'."  
  
He seemed very embarrassed to have just sang to me, "It's pretty," I smiled, touching his hand that he used to prop his muscular body up softly with my tiny fingers.  
  
He smiled, and picked up my hand, "You know," He said softly, his accent soothed me so, "Whenever you feel alone, just look at the spaces between your fingers," He held my delicate fingers apart and stared at me through the spaces, he had this thoughtful look about him, "And just remember, that my fingers are right there, locked with yours forever." He trailed off as he added the last bit, intertwining his fingers with mine. I smiled as he leaned in and brushed his mouth with mine. I remembered the night I'd met him, when he'd pulled me into that alley so that no one could hurt me, scared me into thinking he was going to have his way with me and toss me into the river. I would have chuckled at the thought of Kerry "having his way" with any girl, except for the fact that my mouth had been a little bit occupied at the moment.  
  
In my heart, I knew I didn't deserve him. I knew that Kerry would forever be something that I had at least once had, but never in my life deserved, however, at the moment it didn't matter. I smiled as he released me and softly rested his forehead on mine, and he smiled back. I loved his smile. He had this way of smiling so sweetly, so purely that I didn't think it was possible that he was real, it made me want to smile back at him, and I kept on doing so.  
  
For the next few precious weeks, I received a new bouquet of daisies a day before I woke. Every day I would smile to myself and become consumed in their fragrance, knowing that down in the streets of Brooklyn, there was a newsboy in love with me. Anabeth Meyers. And thinking of him, I would smile to myself and become a-flutter with giggles, leaving a questioning Ruth MacKilligan indifferently staring at me from her usual position staring out the window. I would, in turn, inform her of how wonderful her brother was and she would give me one of her tainted-million-dollar smiles, and nod. She knew it and I knew it: Kerry MacKilligan was the most beautiful person in all of New York.  
  
Suddenly in those weeks, Spot Conlon became almost a thing of the past. I rarely saw him, never talked to him, and I was living in his clubhouse. When I did see him, all we ever did was exchange an awkward glance. I did try my best to forget about him. But he was just always there, in the back of my mind. I avoided the subject of him completely, especially when talking with Kerry. Maybe I could have forgotten about him, if I never had to see him again. But at one time or another, he was unavoidable.  
  
Eventually there came the moment when a conversation with him was inevitable.  
  
It was about a month after that first bouqet of flowers. Kerry was out selling, and it was late morning so I expected him back soon. I'd grown tired of waiting in the hot sun out on the docks, so I decided to wait for him in the clubhouse. Walking in, I didn't see anyone else inside the main room, so I undid the top button on my blouse. If it hadn't been undignified, I'd have taken the whole thing off, it was just too hot to be sitting around in a shirt that covered me completely up to my neck. Closing my eyes, I wiped the sweat off of my forehead as I walked further into the room. When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was a pair of emeralds staring back at me.  
  
I took a step backwards and barely escaped stumbling over my own feet. Why hadn't he told me he was there?  
  
"Hey," he said quietly, as if apprehensive.  
  
"Hey, Spot..." I glanced around nervously, trying to avoid his eyes, once again not laughing at me in that way I detested so much.  
  
"Well it's uh... it's hot today, huh?" As he spoke, I realized that he must have seen me uncover the spot where my blouse covered my neckline, and I tried quickly with one hand to button it up again, also trying not to seem obvious. I didn't succeed at all. "It's okay, you don't have to... you know, cover up, just because of me," he gestured slightly towards my blouse. Even though he seemed to be fine with us being familiar, I still kept my hand over my collar, trying in one respect to seem a bit dignified. It dawned on me that since I had been going with Kerry, I always wanted to appear ladylike to all the other newsboys, as if to let them know that I wasn't just something he occupied time with. Spot seemed to see past that, as if he knew how improper I could really be. But then, after our night upstairs not so long before, he probably did.  
  
"I think I'll stay covered up anyway, if it's all the same to you," I wasn't asking his permission, but he gave a small approving nod anyway. He was just too arrogant sometimes.  
  
The two of us just stood there, and we must have looked incredibly foolish. He shifted his eyes down to his feet, while I pretended to be fascinated with a crate in the corner.  
  
After a moment, I heard his voice, but he didn't look up and I didn't look at him. "I, um..." I heard him take a deep breath, and at a quick corner glance I noticed that hand twitching again. "Look, I've been wanting to say this for awhile, and I guess puttin' it off is just stupid." Looking at him disbelievingly, I couldn't help laughing. His eyes came up to meet mine, "What?"  
  
"I'm sorry... it's just..." I regained my composure a bit and bit my lip to stifle laughter, "Never mind."  
  
His mouth turned a bit into a half-smile, and for some unexplained reason my stomach flipped. "What is it?"  
  
I couldn't hold in my smile, "Well, sorry, but it just... it just sounded like the king of Brooklyn called himself stupid." I shook my head.  
  
"Well, now there you go twistin' my words again," he smiled widely, his green eyes glowing radiantly. "I said that puttin' off sayin' somethin' was stupid, I didn't say that I was stupid."  
  
"All right then," I still had a trace of a smile on my lips. Suddenly I didn't feel like being curt with him. "So, um, what was it you wanted to say?"  
  
Spot's smile faded and his eyes became serious yet again. "I just wanted to give this another try," he paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Was I imagining it, or did the mighty Spot Conlon look nervous? "I..." his eyes bore directly into mine, in that strangely unnerving way they had, "I want to say, again, that I'm... I'm sorry."  
  
I had to smile again, amused at how difficult an apology seemed for him. "Sorry for what?"  
  
"I, um, well, I was really kinda rude to ya for awhile, and I just wanted to see if you'd forgive me for it now, since it's been awhile and we haven't talked, so I thought that you might be a little more willin' to let me say I'm sorry or... somethin..." he looked back down at his feet. "I really am sorry that I was such a jerk at first, I don't wanna be like that to ya anymore."  
  
Grinning again, I decided to have a bit of fun. "Well..." I pretended to be considering whether or not I should forgive him completely. Truthfully, I had tried to forget the way he'd treated me. "I suppose I could find it in my heart to forgive you... on one condition."  
  
Looking back up, his face looked almost hopeful. "And that would be?"  
  
I glanced up over at the stairway leading upstairs, feeling a hint of mischief in my smile, and hoping that he noticed. "Help me clean the floor upstairs." 


	13. Chapter 13

I watched as Spot Conlon fell to his knees and pulled a scrub brush out of the metal bucket that I, many weeks ago, had dropped on his head out the window. He brushed with long strokes, his sleeves rolled up and his hair falling in his face. He had left his cane by the door with his cap draped on top of it. He looked over at me and said to me, "Well, you said to 'help you clean the floor', Doll-Face, that implies that you're helpin' too."  
  
I shook my head and kneeled down next to him, taking another scrub brush and starting to scrub the floor vigorously without even looking up at him. Yet, somehow out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of his arms, partly covered by his rolled up sleeves, his muscles moved so gracefully, forcing the dirt off the floor. I smiled softly to myself, going back to my scrubbing. Realizing how much stuffier it was upstairs, I glanced at him to make sure he wouldn't see me and quickly undid two more buttons on my blouse.  
  
"Here, it's easier if you take longer strokes," He said, obviously, he had been watching me scrub out of the corner of his eye. I took a stroke a bit longer, but he shook his head, "Like this," He said, swinging one arm over me and grasping the scrub brush on either side of my hands, pushing it down forcefully and moving his arms with mine. I could smell him just then. He smelt of the water from the river... His river. His hands worked slowly around mine, and I smiled lightly, rubbing some sweat off my forehead.  
  
"And just how much experience have you had cleanin' floors?" I teased him. He looked back up at me and smiled, making me realize just how close his face was to mine.  
  
"More than you'd think," he feigned seriousness, "just don't tell nobody."  
  
I laughed a bit and looked back down at the floor, trying to concentrate on scrubbing away at it. My breath caught in my throat as I helplessly watched his hands slowly but deliberately slide on top of mine, all the while guiding the brush across the floor. Gulping, I glanced at him, his eyes were focused on our hands as well. I was curious as to what he was thinking, and even more curious about what he was thinking about doing. He moved his eyes up and met mine again, giving another half-smile. I tried to force one too, but all I could do was look back at the floor and feel my face turn red. Trying to keep my breathing steady, I unwillingly trembled as Spot's fingers ran across mine. His touch flooded through me, sending a shiver up my spine. It dawned on me that we had stopped moving the brush, but his hands were still resting on mine, and when I looked up at him, I saw no intention of moving in his eyes. Swallowing hard again, I realized that he had me cornered again. I couldn't move, and he was unbearably close to me He could kiss me if he wanted to, and I prayed that he wouldn't, but wished in the back of my mind that he would at least attempt it. I closed my eyes and tried to block it out. I hadn't realized it, but I was biting my lip near to making it bleed. All I was aware of was how softly he caressed my hands, gliding the tips of his fingers through the spaces between mine. It reminded me of what Kerry had said about fingers being intertwined forever.  
  
Kerry. I was supposed to be waiting for him to come back, and here I was on the floor with Spot Conlon and trying to resist the overwhelming urge to kiss him. What kind of person was I?  
  
I moved my hands under Spot's, trying to shake him off of me. His hands relaxed their grip on mine and he leaned back a bit. I opened my eyes and stared at him, feeling regret deep in my heart.  
  
"I can't..." I begged him with my eyes to understand that this was wrong. This was the reason I didn't deserve Kerry MacKilligan, and this was everything I shouldn't and couldn't want.  
  
Those deep green pools bore into me, and I feared that he could read my mind. "I'm sorry," he moved back from me a bit, but left his hands resting on top of my wrists lightly. "I just..."  
  
There was a creak of the floor and then a familiar voice interrupted us. "Anabeth?" Spot and I both looked up to see Kerry standing in the doorway. Realizing that we hadn't closed or locked the door, I felt both relieved and disappointed. But Kerry looked confused, and Spot was quick to give him an explanation.  
  
"Hey Kerry, just showin' your girl here how to wash the floor right," he gave a knowing look and smiled. It amazed me how fast he was to react, almost as if he'd expected Kerry to walk in and had armed himself with an alibi. But I wondered if Kerry believed him or not. I forced another smile and resumed scrubbing the brush across the floor, as if I'd only been taking a break, while Spot quickly moved his hands away from my wrists and pretended to help me. He looked back towards the door and said with a wink, "Just don't tell nobody you saw me doin' this, okay?"  
  
"Sure, Spot..." Kerry smiled as if everything was just fine, but I really was curious as to what was going through his mind about where he'd found us. "Anabeth, I'll be outside when you two are finished with uh, the floor." I saw something unfamiliar in his eyes, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.  
  
"All right," with my fake smile still plastered to my face, I watched him turn and leave. When Spot and I had heard him walk out of the clubhouse, we both let out a deep sigh.  
  
"Let's hope that never happens again," he finally let go of my hands and ran one of his own through his hair, pushing it out of his face. I glanced at him questioningly. "What?"  
  
"Do you mean 'Let's never put ourselves in that situation again,' or do you mean," I hesitated, "'Let's never get caught again'?" He didn't answer me, so I went on. "We can't do this again. We can't... kiss under the streetlight and then pretend it never happened. So maybe we ought to just go back to not talkin' to each other."  
  
Spot frowned slightly. "It's that serious? With Kerry, I mean, that you don't wanna risk anythin' bein' around me?"  
  
"It might be," to be honest, I had no idea. Kerry loved me, and I wasn't sure if I felt completely the same way. But I did care about him enough to be faithful to him. "Well... it's at that point where it either is or isn't, so I need to find out, okay?"  
  
"How does that have anythin' to do with you and me? Talkin', I mean."  
  
"I... it's hard to explain, but you're kinda... you're a little bit of a distraction." I felt myself beginning to blush again.  
  
"Distraction?" He looked confused, but I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. Was he laughing at my discomfort? I shook my head, silently asking him to drop the subject. Picking up my brush again, I continued cleaning the floor, moving my hand back and forth in long strokes like Spot had showed me.  
  
"Where's Fishface?" I had noticed that she hadn't been at her usual perch in the window when we had walked upstairs, and wondered where she had gone to mope now.  
  
"Search me," he sighed again. I mused for a second over the thought of whether he was serious or not. "She got a letter from the Cowboy, so she may be out somewhere reading it a hundred times over."  
  
"He finally wrote to her?"  
  
"Yeah... she said somethin' about he was almost ready to send for her to come out to Santa Fe," he took a deep breath, "she was real happy about it."  
  
"Well, that's good," I tried to sound happy for her, and I really was, but Spot's feelings for her had obviously not diminished and it irritated me for some reason.  
  
"For her it is, anyway." He shrugged and stared down at the floor while I stopped scrubbing the floor.  
  
I must have sounded a bit impatient when I asked him, "Why do you still beat yourself up with that anyway? Sorry, but I just don't get it."  
  
He looked up at me as if I was crazy. "I told ya, I can't help it, can't help how I feel." His hand twitched a bit as he added softly, "Love ain't a choice, Anabeth."  
  
I chewed on my lower lip a little and went back to scrubbing the floor. Long strokes, that way, Spot Conlon would have no excuse to throw his arm around me. I was trying so hard to concentrate on the floor that I didn't even notice when the necklace Patrick had given me for my sixteenth birthday fell out of my blouse through the unbuttoned space below my neck.  
  
"What's that?" Spot asked me, his hand reaching over and lifting up my turquoise necklace gently under his fingers, "Where'd you get that? Steal it?"  
  
I stared at him in disbelief, "No, I didn't steal it." I snapped, "Patrick gave it to me."  
  
"Oh. where'd he get it?" Spot was just getting annoyingly curious now.  
  
"I don't know, he gave it to me at Fishface's party." I remembered the party, the minutes afterwards had tainted what had been a beautiful night, despite the fact that the party had been held for someone whose mood swings came as often as the sunset.  
  
"Oh yeah," Spot said uneasily, going back to scrubbing the floor. We were almost done by that time, "That night." It was an awkward thing to say, with nothing really to say back to it. I nodded and went back to scraping the bristles of the scrub brush across the last few feet of the dirty wooden floor.  
  
I sat back on my heels easily as we finished, yet my mind was completely uneasy in this room, sweating from the heat, with Spot, wondering exactly WHERE Patrick had found this beautiful piece of jewelry. Perhaps he HAD in fact, stolen it to give to me. No, Patrick wouldn't have done anything like that. Patrick was, in fact, as wholesome as a bowl of oatmeal.  
  
Spot glanced over at me awkwardly, sitting back on his heels next to me, "So." He smirked for a moment, his green eyes, damn them, laughing at me again, "You forgive me?" He asked, feigning a pathetic apologetic look.  
  
I bit my lip again, trying not to smile. Then I pretended to be deep in thought. Finally I gave him a smirk of my own, "Not without an explanation." His trace of a smile faded quickly, he hadn't been expecting that. Lowering my voice, I added slowly, "And it better be a really good one."  
  
Spot glanced around nervously, obviously looking for an escape, but if he went down the stairs he'd only have to face Kerry MacKilligan, who would, I expected, be fuming, or even worse: Ruth MacKilligan, who would regale him with what her correspondence from the one and only Jack Kelly had noted, and from the look on his face, he wasn't up to facing either one of them just yet, so he'd have to face me. With what had better have been a pretty damn good excuse for his behavior.  
  
"I." He trailed off, seemingly for lack of an excuse at all, and I'll be honest with you, I was frustrated. But then he caught me off guard, and continued. "I've been rejected by women for most of my life, Anabeth," he said quietly, "And there you were, and I didn't know what I was doing, I wasn't thinking about who you were or what we were doing. All I knew was," he paused, "you weren't going to run away."  
  
I stared at him for a moment, trying to let what he had just said sink in. He had said that I was his second choice basically, that I was his fallback, I looked into his eyes. They were no longer laughing at me, they just stared back at me blankly, there was no feeling behind them, and perhaps, even when he had kissed me, there never had been. But when Kerry gazed at me; when he would lightly brush his hand across the side of my face, there was a feeling in his eyes. A truth that couldn't be denied. I looked away from Spot Conlon, with the strongest voice I had, I said, "Well, I'm running now, Spot." I bit my lip and stood up, striding out of the clubhouse, leaving a bewildered Spot Conlon sitting on his heels on his freshly cleaned floor.  
  
The hot air stuck to my half-way unbuttoned blouse, which I immediately buttoned up, despite the fact that the heat was far more intense now that I was outside. Tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear, I glanced around the docks, now filled with Brooklyn newsboys, until I saw a familiar face, yet his eyes were distant, and he, for once in all the time I had known him, had his slingshot, which usually resided in his back pocket, out and aimed at an empty booze bottle. He let go and the bottle shattered to pieces. My eyes widened. I'd only once noticed the slingshot hanging out of Kerry's back pocket, and I never thought he'd use it. on anything. I watched him for a moment more, as he gulped and pulled another fragment of a rock out of a bag hanging at his waist. Just as he aimed it, I softly put my hand on his shoulder.  
  
He jumped when I touched him, and when he looked at me, I could see something different in his eyes, something that, honestly, scared me. "Are you alright, Kerry?" I asked him, pulling my hand off his shoulder.  
  
"I'm alright." He said simply, looking away from me and off towards the water, his hair was dirty, and it fell down into his face, covering his shockingly blue eyes from mine. I sighed.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Kerry looked over at me, "Sometimes I just get a little jealous, that's all."  
  
He was jealous? Kerry MacKilligan didn't strike me as the type to ever get jealous. Even stranger, he was jealous of Spot? "Well, you shouldn't. There's nothing to be jealous of," I shrugged my shoulders.  
  
Looking back at me, he gave me a quick once-over. Then he reached over and touched my collar, saying quietly, "You missed one..." and redid the top button.  
  
I looked down at my blouse guiltily, then swallowed hard and bit my lip. What was I supposed to say? I couldn't give him that age-old excuse that nothing was going on and it wasn't what it had looked like, because truthfully it was. Looking back up into his eyes, I saw that unfamiliar flash again that I'd caught for an instant when he'd found me on the floor with Spot. It worried me, especially because I had no idea what he was thinking. Without another word, he aimed his slingshot at another empty bottle that he had lined up and released the rock in his hand. I closed my eyes as I heard the bottle break into a hundred pieces.  
  
It was at that moment that I realized how many dimensions there were to Kerry MacKilligan. That moment, when a sandy-haired newsie in brown pants and an undershirt placed his hand roughly on Kerry MacKilligan's shoulder and said in a husky Brooklyn accent, "Y'look angry, MacKilligan," His voice was dripping with disdain, and Kerry furrowed his eyebrows, trying to contain his anger as he shot another fragment of a pebble at another bottle, missing completely, "So angry your." He paused for a moment, trying to think of the word, "impeccable aim is off. Could it have somethin' to do with our oh-so-fearless leader?"  
  
Kerry shot him a look, and I just stood there, watching the boy who had once held my hand and asked me to remember that he'd always be with me attempt to contain his anger at this stranger. Of course, he wasn't REALLY a stranger. I had seen him quite a few times before, though I didn't know his name. He walked the docks every morning like he owned them. He was one of the best shots in all of Brooklyn. I'd watched him practice out my window before Fishface stole it to sulk. "I ain't got any business with you, Buttons, so why don't you just go back to that fearless leader of yours?"  
  
The sandy-haired boy called 'Buttons' continued, as if Kerry hadn't even spoken, "See, I was thinkin', y'see, and I think it might have somethin' to do with our fearless leader and the lovely Anabeth," His hazel eyes glanced over at me, but only briefly, then they shot back to Kerry, "'Cause y'know, I think it does."  
  
Kerry struggled with his emotions for a moment, I saw it in his eyes and the way his shoulders tensed up, and then he turned and coolly raised his slingshot, a round pebble loaded, and aimed it directly at Buttons's forehead. "Go away." He said, his voice slipping back to the one he'd used with Spot Conlon a few weeks before, when they'd argued in the lower room of the clubhouse, "Leave or I'll shoot you dead right now, you dirty thief. I don't care what your leader does to me, you'll leave and not talk about Miss Anabeth Meyers again, you got it?"  
  
I was shocked, Kerry never acted like that. Granted he didn't make a very good threat, it was still almost unbelievable.  
  
Buttons didn't even flinch, "Oooh, 'Miss Anabeth Meyers'? Didn't know we was callin' the little whore by her whole name now."  
  
"That's enough, Buttons," I turned around, and Spot Conlon was standing there, holding that ridiculous cane and looking nothing else but short. But his eyes were blazing, and it made even me shiver. Kerry lowered his slingshot, but didn't unload it. His eyes were still burning holes into Buttons, who didn't seem to notice. "You ain't got no business with MacKilligan, nor any with Shortstack. If I were you," Spot said icily, "I'd not be buttin' into business that wasn't mine, or you'd have an angry Scotsman with," he paused and raised a comical eyebrow at him, "impeccable aim to deal with." Spot made me wonder how long he had been listening to the conversations that had gone on out by the docks. "And you'd have me to deal with as well, and my aim is twice as good as MacKilligan's."  
  
Kerry stared at Spot for a moment, and gave him what I thought was an almost thankful look; along with Kerry's thankfulness, Spot also received an icy glare from Buttons. Kerry then proceeded to shoot a glare of his own at the sandy-haired newsboy. I wondered to myself what was wrong with Kerry, but in my heart, I knew.  
  
* * * *  
  
Hey y'all, it's Anna. I know things have been going a bit slow the last couple of chapters, but things are about to pick up, so hang on! Cheesey, I know. 


	14. Chapter 14

I smiled as I entered the upper floor of the clubhouse, seeing Fishface, who had washed her hair and let if fall loose again. I had to admit, she looked great. She shot me one of her million-dollar smiles, and for the first time in awhile, it wasn't tainted.  
  
"I heard Cowboy wrote ya," I said as cheery as I could be.  
  
She grinned and nodded, "Yeah, says he'll have a ranch soon and I can go out there with 'im." Her eyes were positively glowing with delight, then she hushed a little bit, and with a giggle she said, "He asked me if I'd marry him. Don't tell Spot or Kerry, please, but I think I might say yes."  
  
I smiled, Fishface was one of those people who deserved that sort of thing. Plus, she was incredibly annoying when she wasn't with Jack.  
  
"Here, let me read some of it to you," She looked at me as if it would be the one thing in the world that would make her happy.  
  
"Sure, go ahead," I said in a monotone. My brain was traveling back to her brother and what he'd done and said out on the docks. 'I just get jealous sometimes. that's all.'  
  
"'Dear Fishface,'" I remembered when Spot had pointed out to her that the Cowboy didn't know her real name, I wondered if he still didn't, "'I'm sorry for not writing sooner. I've almost got a ranch and a house and everything set up for us here in Santa Fe. I can't wait until you come to join me. When you do, I wanted to ask you, and I should have asked you in person, but I just can't wait any longer, will you marry me? I await your reply. Love, Jack.' Ain't that romantic?" She fell back on her mattress by the window, pulling the letter down onto her chest and closing her eyes.  
  
"You love 'im, don't ya?" I asked her, sitting down myself.  
  
"Yeah, I do," She said, opening her eyes, "It's like, every breath I take is better because I know it's the same air he breathes." She gave me a half- smile, "You know what I mean. It's how Kerry feels about you."  
  
"Does. Jack know your real name?" I asked her, not out of curiosity, but for an explanation, as to why he didn't know perhaps.  
  
Fishface shrugged, "I don't know, he never had a reason to know it." She paused, "Until now." She gazed at that special finger, "I wonder what our wedding rings would look like." She mused with herself, but then looked back up at me, "So how have you been lately? I was a little bit. out of the loop without Jack around, didn't pay much attention to anything.Say, I'm hungry, and from the looks of it, it's around dinnertime, you wanta get somethin' to eat with me?" I noticed how she lacked the thick Scottish accent her brother had, but I assumed that if Kerry had been eight, then she would have been very young, and could have easily dropped her accent. She still favored him quite a bit though. They had the same tone of brown hair, the same bright blue eyes. They even had similar smiles. I don't know how I could have missed it before.  
  
Fishface, unexpectedly, had a quarter in her pocket. Apparently, Jack had left her two dollars, just in case. I'm not sure what 'just in case' meant, but she didn't elaborate before she went on to tell me ALL about Jack Kelly and how great he was. In reality, I envied her, she had found her perfect love, and here I was confused as to whether or not real love actually existed. We entered the small restaurant near the bridge, she said it was her favorite place to eat when she was in Brooklyn, that Spot used to take her there all the time. The thought of this made me want to puke, but I knew that she only loved Spot as a brother. she'd said so herself. Many times. Within 30 seconds.  
  
It was a long meal to share with someone with that much energy. Honestly, I'm not sure where she hid all that energy. She was just like everyone else, she didn't get too much to eat; she didn't sleep much at nights, yet she was as perky as a Chihuahua. It perplexed me.  
  
The sun had set while we had eaten, and Fishface was still jabbering by the time we made it to the docks. I swear, the girl had so much to say it almost made me miss her crying. I suppose if the man I loved asked me to marry him I'd be giddy too.  
  
Fishface had gone in ahead of me. I wanted to take a good look at the stars before I went to bed, when something---someone came stumbling onto the docks. I turned around and saw a familiar figure. Oh God no, not Kerry.  
  
He approached me, his stride was crooked, but I could tell, he could hold his liquor better than Spot Conlon. He brushed his ink-stained hand across my face, "Heya Shortstack," his voice cracked on the last syllable of my nickname, and I flinched. I hated seeing him like this. I always knew that Kerry had been "fond of the pint". He even admitted that he loved to drink. He also admitted that it got him into quite a bit of trouble as well. The night he'd grabbed me off the streets of Brooklyn he had been drinking, and Spot Conlon's thick Brooklyn accent echoed in my mind, 'I'd give ya a good soaking if there wasn't a lady present'.  
  
I could smell how much liquor he'd had on his breath. He was trying his best to keep his eyes in focus, I could tell, he wrapped his fingers with mine and picked up my hand, kissing it lightly, "Sometimes I just get a little jealous, that's all." He repeated what he had said to me earlier. He must have had more than he usually drank, because just after that he collapsed on top of me. It was a lucky thing that even though Kerry was muscular, he didn't have an inch of fat on his bones. I suppose it came from being a newsie and sometimes not having much money for food, but I didn't fall into the East River underneath his weight, so I thanked God for his slimness.  
  
Just then, a thin stream of light emerged from the clubhouse, as the one and only Spot Conlon stepped out himself. "Shortstack?" He said, just so that I could hear him, "What's wrong?"  
  
"It's Kerry," I said, pushing up Kerry's body onto one of my shoulders. "He's drunk." I bit back a tear, "And he passed out, I don't know what to do."  
  
"Here," he quickly sprang over to me and hoisted the arm on the other side of Kerry over his shoulder. "We better get him back to the lodging house, he can sleep it off there." Without another word, the two of us began to drag Kerry the two blocks back to the newsboys' lodging.  
  
He wouldn't have been especially heavy if I'd been carrying him there myself, but I was grateful to have some help. When we finally got there, Spot let go of Kerry and went to the front door, opened it, and rejoined me with getting Kerry through the door. I turned back and closed the door, and we started up the stairs to the bunks. That was a bit more difficult, as the unconcious body of Kerry kept threatening to tip backwards and fall right back down the stairway.  
  
As we were struggling up the stairs, Spot grunted out, "Damn it, I hate when one of me boys does this," and tried to keep his balance steady.  
  
"This happens often?" I looked past Kerry and over at him.  
  
He sighed, we were almost to the top of the stairs. "Yeah, I hate it."  
  
"You said that already."  
  
Spot stepped ahead of me to help pull him all the way up. "Well, when somebody says somethin' more den once, ya know they mean it."  
  
"Not necessarily," as I responded, all he did was give me a strange look.  
  
Standing at the top of the stairwell, there were two doors in front of us. Spot looked back and forth at them both, and after a moment pointed to the one on the right and said, "Pretty sure it's this one." Walking over to it, he kicked the door open and then went back to helping me with Kerry. When we were halfway through the door, he shouted out, "MacKilligan in here or next door?"  
  
A second later a voice came from the back of the room, "Yeah, he's in here!"  
  
With that, we pulled Kerry into the room, and I could look around a bit. The room looked almost exactly like the one Patrick and his friends slept in, only it seemed more cramped, with more bunks and less space. Then I remembered that the Brooklyn newsboys heavily outnumbered the Manhattan ones.  
  
"Which bunk?" Spot called out again, waiting for an answer.  
  
"Second on the left, on the bottom!" came the same voice in reply.  
  
I was grateful that Kerry's bunk was in the second row, we didn't have much farther to drag him. Arriving at his bunk, we finally pushed him onto it. I pulled his legs up onto his bed, and he was so tall that they almost stuck out into the passageway between bunks.  
  
Glancing around, I noticed that Kerry didn't have anything around his bunk, at least no personal things. Some of Patrick's roommates had cigarette boxes or pictures of girls laying around their bunks, but there was nothing of any individual value around the Brooklyn boys' beds. It seemed odd to me, but I didn't say anything.  
  
Spot took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Well," he said flatly, "let's go."  
  
He walked out quickly, and I tried to catch up to him as he started descending the stairs.  
  
"Wait," he turned and looked at me. "Don't you live here, too?" Then it occured to me that maybe he intended to walk me back to the clubhouse.  
  
"Not really, only when it's cold." He turned back around and went down the stairs, with me doing my best to keep up. I thought for a second that we'd left Kerry upstairs seemingly in a hurry, but then I decided that he probably wouldn't miss my goodbye anyway.  
  
As we went through the front door and back onto the dark street, I asked "What do you mean? Where do you live?" He didn't slow down, and I tried to walk faster. "Would you slow down?"  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he turned at me again, and I could tell by the streetlight, as well as by his voice, that he was angry.  
  
"Wh- what are you talkin' about?" I stopped, too. What was he mad for?  
  
"You say you don't wanna talk to me, but the instant your 'boyfriend' ain't around, suddenly you wanna ask a buncha questions like it's nothin'!" His green eyes were blazing at me, shining brighter than the streetlights.  
  
"I was just askin' where you live," I was stunned that he was overreacting like this. "But if you don't wanna talk, we won't," I started walking again, and then it was Spot who was trying to keep up with me.  
  
"I never didn't wanna talk!" he jumped right in front of me, and now I was the one glaring at him through the darkness. "The point is, you need to stop jumpin' around sayin' things ya don't mean. Don't tell me that I make ya uncomfortable and then invite me upstairs to clean a floor with ya! And then you're surprised when somethin' happens, like you didn't know that it would." He paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "You just need to make up your mind about us, okay?"  
  
Us? I didn't know we were more than just Spot and Anabeth, two people living two lives. When had this "us" term come into use? But he was right, I was going back and forth between decisions. I didn't want to be around with him while I was with Kerry, it was too awkward. But at the same time, I found it strangely difficult to resist wanting to be near him. Somehow, I was drawn to him, though I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself.  
  
"I still..." I tried to explain why I kept going back and forth, but I wanted to avoid the real reason. "I... I'm WITH Kerry, Spot. That's all there is to it. Being with you is... awkward. But then sometimes," I could feel myself blushing, and was once again grateful for the darkness, "I don't wanna be anywhere else. That's why I said I can't talk to ya, but I didn't mean it. What I meant is that I... shouldn't talk to ya. I shouldn't want to be around you, Spot. But I do." Looking down, I felt my cheeks go red and wished he wasn't in my way so I could run as fast as I could away from him.  
  
Neither of us spoke for a minute, and I didn't look up at him. Finally he said, "Let's just go back to the docks," and started walking in the direction we had come from. I glanced up and followed him, staying a couple of feet behind. As I watched the back of his head, I could feel myself still bright red. Spot basically knew how I felt, but he didn't know how strongly I felt it. The truth was that no matter how much I tried to fight it, I was attracted to him. He was the only reason that I doubted whether or not I was really in love with Kerry, he was the only thing I wasn't sure about.  
  
We didn't say a word all the way back to the clubhouse, but when we were about a hundred yards away, Spot turned another direction and kept walking.  
  
"Where are you going now?" I asked him, and he finally turned and looked at me.  
  
Through the dim light, I saw his tiny half-smile and another glimmer in his eyes. "You wanted to know where I live." With that, he continued walking, and I just followed him curiously. He led me in a curved pattern through the clutter on the docks, until we'd made a semicircle around the clubhouse.  
  
On the side, close to the back, there was a thin door that wasn't even visible by the streetlights. I guessed you wouldn't be able to find it unless you already knew that it was there. I didn't see it in the darkness, but somehow Spot found a doorknob and pushed through the doorway. All I could see on the other side was pitch blackness. He turned back to me, I was standing a few feet behind him.  
  
"You comin' in?" I thoughtlessly nodded, and walked over to him. As he moved into the darkness, I stayed a little behind him, unsure of where he was going. Suddenly I was nearly blinded by a light, but after a few seconds my eyes adjusted. Looking to my left, I saw Spot putting out the match that he'd used to light a lantern resting on a small table next to the door. Now that I could see, I hesitatingly glanced around while Spot closed the door.  
  
We were in one of the tiniest rooms I'd ever seen, and there was almost nothing in it. Aside from the tiny table I'd seen the lantern on, all that was in the room was a mattress, about the size of mine, on the floor with a small pillow and a thin sheet tossed on it carelessly. On the wall that helped form the very back of the clubhouse there was a small window. Examining the walls a bit, I guessed that the room was probably about three feet by six feet, barely more than a closet.  
  
I stood in the middle of the tiny space, while Spot sat down on the mattress against the wall. He searched his pockets, I assumed for a cigarette. Much to my delight, he didn't find one. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in this small room with him and a cloud of smoke.  
  
"You live here?" I finally broke the silence.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and then rested his head on it, "Most of the time, yeah. It's pretty comfortable, 'cept on cold nights like I said. Then I go back to the lodging house. Not many people know this place's back here, so I don't get bothered or anythin'." He smiled at me again, "I was actually on my way back here when I found you tryin' to hold Kerry up after he went out."  
  
I pulled my eyes away from his smile and pretended to be looking around his room again. "It looks... cozy." Suddenly I was aware that I was alone with Spot Conlon in his room, and became uncomfortable again. "I guess I better get back upstairs..." I looked down at my feet.  
  
"You could always stay here tonight if ya want." My eyes darted up to him, he was sitting there smirking. As I shot him a disgusted look, he put his hands up in defeat. "Relax, Doll-Face, I was kiddin'."  
  
"Oh..." I moved my gaze back down to my feet. "Don't say things like that, Spot." I felt my cheeks getting warm again.  
  
"Why not?" I could feel the amusement in his voice.  
  
"'Cause I like it..." Not able to look at him anymore, my voice was soft and barely audible, my words practically lost to the floor. He didn't say anything, so we just stayed that way for a moment. Finally I said, "G'night, Spot," and turned to open the door. I paused, hoping and wishing that he would ask me again to stay. But he didn't, so I opened the door and walked out.  
  
Right before I shut the door behind me, I heard him say softly, "G'night Anabeth."  
  
Walking back around the clubhouse, I could feel myself still blushing slightly, hoping to have control of myself before I got back, to avoid any suspicious looks. The last thing I needed was Fishface asking questions.  
  
Before I reached the door, I felt a strong hand grab my shoulder. My first thought was that it might be Kerry sneaking up on me like he was still in the habit of doing, but then I remembered that he was still out cold at the lodging house. I turned around and found myself staring up into the face of that horrible Buttons, and grimaced in the darkness. Judging by his breath, he'd been drinking himself. What was it with these Brooklyn newsies with their drinking and smoking? I'd never seen the appeal of such habits, and with Buttons breathing in my face, I was even more disgusted.  
  
"Hey girlie," I tried to back away from him, and he leaned on me drunkenly. "What was you doin' in Conlon's room?"  
  
"Nothin," I continued to back towards the clubhouse, "and it's none of your business anyway." How did he know that I was in Spot's room anyway? I thought Spot had said only a few people knew where it was... or maybe Buttons had been watching me. That was another strange thing about the boys in Brooklyn, they were very sneaky and keen on spying on people. I, for one, was not too fond of the idea that someone might be watching me everywhere I went.  
  
"Yeah, you're right sweetie," he backed off of me a bit. "I wouldn't want any Scotsman with their damn 'impeccable' aim after me, now would I?" His voice slurred a bit on the word "impeccable."  
  
"You... you're not gonna tell Kerry," I gulped, "are ya?"  
  
"Nah, Doll-Face, I ain't gonna tell your boyfriend that his girlfriend's been sleepin' with our oh-so-fearless leader behind his back. Why would I do a thing like that?"  
  
Listening to the sarcasm in his voice, I wasn't entirely convinced that he wouldn't tell Kerry. But there wasn't anything to tell, besides the fact that I'd been coming out of Spot's room in the middle of the night. Okay, so there was something to tell.  
  
Buttons started to speak again, but then he got a strange look on his face. Before I could blink, he had fallen forward and landed at my feet, passing out just like Kerry. But unlike Kerry, Buttons' unconcious body was just one more thing between me and the door to the clubhouse. Stepping casually over him, I walked inside and went directly upstairs.  
  
As I opened the door, I saw Fishface sitting up on her mattress gleefully. She was rereading her letter for the billionth time, and gazing occasionally at her finger with a blissful smile on her face. Since she wasn't looking at me, I rolled my eyes and then grinned. I could only imagine how strange the world would be if everyone was as fleeting in their moods as she was. 


	15. Chapter 15

When I woke up the next morning and found no flowers next to my mattress, I immediately knew something was wrong.  
  
Sitting up, I glanced over at Fishface and rolled my eyes again. She was sleeping, clutching that letter of hers and with a smile cemented to her face. I knew I wouldn't have to worry about waking her up, undoubtedly dreams of Jack would keep her in a blissful sleep for quite awhile more. Not bothering to do my hair, I put on my shoes and left, going downstairs and looking around the main room. I saw Kerry sitting in a corner by himself, with that strange look that worried me shadowing his face. Inwardly, I groaned to myself, knowing perfectly well what would have him still here in the middle of the morning instead of out selling.  
  
He glanced up at me, then went back to staring at the floor with a sullen look in his eyes. The image of him sitting there looking so alone reminded me of an abandoned puppy I'd seen on the street once. But I was pretty sure that a piece of ham and a pat on the head wouldn't comfort him.  
  
I approached him apprehensively, and once again it annoyed me that I had no idea what he was thinking. But then I wasn't so sure I wanted to know.  
  
At length, he spoke slowly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "So... how was Spot last night?"  
  
My mouth fell open in shock, that was the last thing I had expected from Kerry. "I... I wouldn't know," I stuttered. "I left."  
  
Kerry's gaze came up to me, his eyes seemed numb and empty. "So then you were in his room..."  
  
I didn't say anything, but it was exactly the answer he was looking for.  
  
He continued quietly, "Buttons was right... there's somethin' that'll never happen again."  
  
"Kerry," I began my desparate attempt to explain myself, hoping it would work. "Nothin' happened, I swear. Yeah, I was in his room, but it's not what Buttons said it was. Spot even asked me to stay, but I said no." Should I have mentioned that last part? When Kerry's head snapped up and his eyes started blazing furiously, I decided that it wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done.  
  
"He... invited you to stay?"  
  
I stammered again. "Yeah, but he was kiddin', he wasn't seriously askin' me to stay."  
  
He didn't say anything for a minute, and I saw a coldness in his eyes that sent a shiver up my spine. "Well, if it's really that tempting, I guess I'll just wait around till you're done with him."  
  
I shook my head, "You know I wouldn't do that," I took a deep breath, "I... I love you."  
  
There, I said it. It was the first time I'd ever told him I loved him, no matter how many times he'd said it to me.  
  
Kerry looked back down and chuckled softly. "You know, you never said that to me before."  
  
"Yeah, I know." I walked over to him, and he looked up at me. His eyes weren't cold anymore, he suddenly looked like the same Kerry I'd always known. "Well," I grinned, "ain't ya gonna say it back to me?"  
  
He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me down for a kiss. Then he sighed against my lips, "I love you."  
  
Then who should enter but Mr. Oatmeal himself. Patrick walked in, stopped dead in the doorway, and burst out laughing. Kerry and I both turned to look at him and couldn't help but smile along.  
  
"Why do I have a knack for walkin' in on you two?" It was then that I noticed a short redheaded girl standing behind him, smiling nervously, "Heya Shorts, this-this is Daisy." The infamous 'Daisy'.  
  
She seemed to be a nice girl, and from what I could tell by looking from her, she was almost as oatmeal-wholesome as my brother was. She had a nice smile with deep dimples that cut into her freckled cheeks. She smiled broadly at me and walked over, holding out her hand, my fingers slowly pulled away from Kerry's as I moved over to shake her hand. She had a firm grip and almost shook my arm right off.  
  
"Hi, like Mushee said, I'm Daisy," If I weren't polite, I would have winced at her calling Patrick 'Mushee', but I simply smiled at her and grabbed my hand away slowly, "It's good to meet you, I've heard so much about you."  
  
I just smiled, and said, "Then I guess you know I'm Shortstack, and," I turned, indicating Kerry, "this is Kerry MacKilligan."  
  
"Say, MacKilligan," Patrick said, his grin fading just a bit, "Why ain't ya sellin' the morning edition?"  
  
Kerry's eyes hesitated, but then he smiled and said, "Was out late last night, slept too late to get to tha' distribution center on time."  
  
Patrick grinned, "I know how that is." And that's all they said on the matter.  
  
I pushed past Daisy, who was smiling genially, and embraced my brother in a hug. It was good to see him, especially after the events of the night before and that morning. Patrick let out a whole-hearted laugh, and pushing me back gently said, "You guys got anythin' to eat 'round here?" I smiled and grabbed his hand, leading him to the loaf of bread over on the table and ripping a piece off for him and one for Daisy.  
  
I had to admit, Patrick seemed to be very fond of this Daisy girl, occasionally, I would catch him glancing over at her while she talked, his chocolate brown eyes filled with love. It made me smile, as I had seen the same look in Kerry's eyes many times. Patrick told me about the news in Manhattan, all the pranks he and Kid Blink had played on Racetrack and Snipeshooter that week. Really, the boy could tell a story and make it sound hysterical, even if in fact, it wasn't.  
  
Once I had gotten my brother "alone" (Really, we were out on the docks while Kerry had gone to sell the afternoon edition and Daisy went to. use the facilities.), I decided to ask him about the piece of jewelry that hung about my neck.  
  
"Patrick?" I asked him, he turned and looked at me as if to say, 'huh?', I slowly unbuttoned the first three buttons on my blouse and untied the necklace from around the back of my neck, "Where'd you get this?" I asked him quietly. His gaze was out on the river as he answered.  
  
"It was our mother's," He said quietly, he hardly spoke of our parents. ever. I think it might have gotten him down, "Took it before we left, thought I'd give it to you once you got out of the convent, I doubt they woulda let you wear it there anyway."  
  
I smiled, suddenly feeling that I'd had a touch of my mother draped around my neck for a few weeks without even knowing.  
  
Patrick picked up the necklace underneath his fingers lightly, "Reminds me of her. You look a lot like her too, do you remember?"  
  
I shook my head, and honestly, I didn't. I remembered blurs of my parents, watching my mother from the back apply makeup and bun her hair, but otherwise, the only family I could remember was Patrick. Sometimes I cursed myself for forgetting when Patrick obviously still remembered, but Patrick would always feel obliged to tell me about them when I would shake my head to that question.  
  
"Well, our mom was a beautiful woman, she had long brown hair and bright blue eyes, just like yours, and she was a great cook, Dad was a big man with curly hair like mine and a short little beard. You used to love to rub your nose in it. We all lived in an apartment a little farther uptown, and every night dad'd come home for dinner and we'd eat as a family. We had this cat too." He smiled, "I wish you could remember."  
  
"I wish I could too." I said quietly. He patted my back and leaned over and kissed my forehead.  
  
"It's alright though, we're a family, you and me, Anabeth."  
  
Just after he said that, Daisy rejoined us and he told me that he had to get back to talk with Blink and some of the other Manhattan boys, they were having a little bit of leadership trouble after Jack had left for Santa Fe. I entered the clubhouse morosely, feeling completely alone, Kerry was still out selling, I could go find him, but I had no idea where he sold, and Patrick and Daisy (who I had decided was a rather likable person, and perhaps even more wholesome than her significant other) had been gone for nearly a quarter of an hour, that is until he entered, him and that infernal cane of his.  
  
I had been sitting on a crate in the clubhouse, moving my necklace around through my fingers and memorizing every detail of it. Examining it, I wished that somehow by holding it I could remember my mother, seeing all those memories Patrick had described to me over the years. Sometimes I felt it was a bit unfair that he had those to hold on to, when I had nothing of my childhood.  
  
When I saw him come in, and heard the clunk of that cane against the floor, all I could do was roll my eyes unexplainably. That stupid thing was really getting on my nerves, and I would have loved to have taken a lit match to it when he wasn't looking.  
  
Spot didn't say anything when he walked in, he just sat down on the crate next to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, I didn't say anything either, but I decided I should.  
  
"I made a decision about," I paused, and looked over at him, he was looking back at me, "us."  
  
"And that would be?" He sounded calm, and I figured he had no idea about what Buttons had said about me and Kerry. Actually, I really had no idea what Buttons had said about me.  
  
Gulping, my voice cracked a bit when I spoke. "I told him I love him."  
  
He looked away and didn't respond for a moment. With my eyes cast down, I could see his hand twitching again. He really needed to kick his habit of smoking.  
  
"Did ya mean it?"  
  
Like so many times before, I was disgusted with him. "Of course I did, what kinda question is that?"  
  
"Nothin, I was just askin'," he put his hands up, relenting, and then went back to not saying anything.  
  
I raised my eyebrows at him, "You're not gonna fight with me?"  
  
"No," he glanced at me and smirked. "Disappointed?"  
  
"Maybe... but not a lot." Arguing with him did keep things interesting, now he was just boring sometimes. Come on, I thought, insult me! Just like we used to.  
  
"Well, what I meant was, do you love him, like REALLY love him, or do you just love him as somethin' like a..." he rolled his eyes and exhaled deeply, "brother or a friend or anythin' like that?"  
  
"I really love him," my mind began to wander and I felt my eyes grow distant, "he has the most amazing spirit I've ever known..." then I blushed and looked at the floor, I must have sounded like an idiot.  
  
"What's it like?"  
  
"What's what like?" I looked back up at him, he was studying me again.  
  
"Loving somebody like that, and they love you back?" Oh, God. Did he ever think about ANYTHING but Fishface? But even his constant depression couldn't take away from my happiness.  
  
Smiling, I asked him, "Have you ever read a fairy tale?"  
  
"One 'a those 'once upon a time' stories?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I heard of 'em. Those things where somebody always finds their prince or princess charming and everybody lives happily ever after." He grimaced, "Those damn things make me sick."  
  
I wasn't able to resist laughing, the idea of someone hating a story with a happy ending was quite comical. "Come on, it's not that sickening."  
  
"Yeah it is, life isn't really like that. Just once, somebody should find their prince charming and NOT get the happily ever after. Now THAT'S real life."  
  
What was wrong with this boy? Not everything had to be harsh reality. "Maybe the happily ever after you WANT isn't the one you're supposed to get." I almost lost myself in thought again, I had a terrible way of doing that. "Or maybe some people don't deserve a happy ending... like that jackass Buttons..."  
  
He chuckled a bit, and I smiled. "Yeah," he said, "Buttons is a jerk, ain't he?" I nodded, and neither of us said anything else for a minute.  
  
"Well," he cleared his throat and looked at me hesitatingly. I liked when he did that. "Do ya love me?"  
  
I searched for an answer, thinking for a second. "As what?"  
  
Spot just shrugged at me, "As anythin'."  
  
I thought for an instant. "No," I responded finally.  
  
Raising his eyebrow, he sounded surprised. "No?"  
  
"No." I just stared into his eyes, they looked completely empty. It reminded me of how Kerry's eyes had been so blank when I had first seen him that morning. At length, I broke into a small grin. "But I may like you just a lil' bit." 


	16. Chapter 16

I looked up at Kerry while he held his unloaded slingshot out, aimed across the river at Manhattan. After overhearing a conversation on the docks earlier, I gained the information that Kerry and Buttons often competed for the best shot in Brooklyn apart from Spot Conlon, yet Kerry never practiced, except when he was upset or bored, while Buttons would spend literal hours after selling hitting empty booze bottles off of the ledges of the docks just to keep his title.  
  
"I heard you're pretty good at that," I said, almost a monotone, Honestly, we didn't have much to talk about.  
  
"Yeah," He let go and tucked the slingshot back into his back pocket. "We all learn jus' in case we gotta go fight, like during the strike, when we saved Manhattan's lazy bums," He grinned and winked at me, I could tell he was only joking about the Manhattan boys being 'lazy bums', "But they're a good ambush weapon, it was Warrick's idea, a couple of years afore I came, trained all 'is boys and every time they got a new kid they'd hand him a slingshot and tell him to work on his aim." He laughed, "Buttons is always trying to prove that he's better than me..." He paused and grinned, "We all know he's not though."  
  
I smiled; Kerry's smile had struck again, making me want to smile again. He walked over and slowly slid one of his hands around my waist, and lacing his and my fingers with the other. It reminded me of the night of his younger sister's birthday, when he'd pulled me close to him and we'd danced, I laughed at the memory, "You and your... impeccable aim," I winked and he blushed.  
  
He softly pushed my hair off my shoulder, his blue eyes softly staring down at me.  
  
"What did Buttons tell you about last night?" I asked him seriously. I was surprised when he didn't pull away from our embrace, but only hesitated for a second.  
  
"He-he told me you were sleepin' with Spot, and I told him I didn't believe 'im, but he kept sayin' that he saw ya come out of his room, and that you were blushin' pretty badly, and I didn't want to believe it, but when I asked you..." He trailed off for a moment, then continued, "But it wasn't true, so it doesn't matter." He smiled and lightly kissed my nose, then softly whispered in my ear, "And I love you, so it doesn't matter," then he leaned over and kissed me, letting my mouth get lost in his.  
  
Kerry told me he had to leave soon, and he did. I didn't watch where he went though, I just stood, looking out at the river, wondering what Patrick was doing just then, and running my finger gently under my necklace. After about ten minutes of mindless daydreaming, I walked crisply into the clubhouse, where there was a poker game going on in the lower room between Buttons and three other Brooklyn Boys. Buttons was winning. I shook my head and started up the stairs, but paused when I heard a familiar accent speaking to someone in the upper room of Spot Conlon's clubhouse.  
  
"Do you love him?" I heard Kerry say, not sure who he was speaking to, I inched closer. I felt a little bad for eavesdropping, but it WAS my room.  
  
"You know how it is Kerry, when you know that every morning Anabeth wakes up to those flowers you spend almost all your food money on, grins, and breathes them in for hours until you get home? And how the thought her smiling alone makes it worthwhile to go without that extra slice of bread?" I recognized the voice of his younger sister, and smiled, even though the thought that Kerry was giving up food to give me flowers worried me, "Well that's how it is with me and Jack. When I'm with Jack, I just forget about everything but me and him, and how happy I am to be alive, and with him. I'm gonna miss you, Kerry, I'm gonna miss you somethin' awful. But I'm in love with Jack, and I'm gonna marry 'im when I get to Santa Fe."  
  
"Oh," I heard Kerry say, I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was probably staring at his boots as if they had something fascinating on them, like rubies, "I'll miss ya, Ruthy. Lots." He said quietly, "But I hope you two are happy. And Bonnie, you'll write me, right? I mean, I'll write you back. And maybe I'll get a real job, and I can ask Shorts to marry me... and maybe we'll go out and visit you in Santa Fe."  
  
I smiled. Wait. Did he just say he was going to ask me to marry him? I shook the thought off and continued eavesdropping.  
  
"That'd be nice, Kerry," I heard Fishface say, I leaned forward so that I could sort-of see them, Fishface had embraced her brother in a hug, "I'll miss you all so much. You, and Spot," (I grimaced at this part, I knew she wasn't COMPLETELY clueless as to Spot's feelings for her, yet she still cared about him as a brother. Fishface, I decided right then, was extremely tolerable.), "And Anabeth." When she said this, I was a little bit surprised, of course, Fishface liked positively EVERYONE, but I didn't expect her to MISS everyone, "And Mush, and Kid Blink, and Cru-" After she started to name every newsie in Manhattan and Brooklyn, I tuned her out and headed back down the stairs, perhaps I could find someone worth talking to.  
  
The room had filled completely with Brooklyn newsies, including their (to quote Buttons) "oh-so-fearless leader", Spot Conlon and his God-awful cane. He glanced up at me, and smiled ever-so lightly, as if to acknowledge my presence, but nothing else. He seemed a bit distant, and if anything else, upset over something.  
  
I walked over to him, wondering what was wrong. He looked up at me, something in his eyes told me that he didn't want to talk, but I asked anyways, "What's wrong? You seem. upset."  
  
He shrugged, "Ain't we perceptive?" He said sarcastically.  
  
"It's about Fishface, isn't it?" I pushed, not really knowing why I was pushing in the first place.  
  
"She's leavin'," He said it so glumly that I realized how hurt Spot must have been by her leaving, and suddenly wanted to rip her hair out. A fleeting impulse, that's all. 'Love ain't a choice, Anabeth.'  
  
"I heard..." I wondered to myself if she'd told him about Jack proposing, but didn't ask.  
  
"I guess she told you all about it then? How the Cowboy's almost got it all set up and everythin'?" Spot's hand was twitching again, and once again, on a fleeting impulse, I softly set my own tiny hand on top of his.  
  
He didn't move his hand, and I hoped he would take it as merely a comforting gesture.  
  
"Well, I wish I knew somethin' to say to make ya feel better," I shrugged and looked away, inwardly debating whether or not to take my hand off of his. Searching for something that might take his mind away from Fishface, I had a bit of an idea. "Feel like a walk?"  
  
Spot looked back up at me disbelievingly, "What?"  
  
"I feel like takin' a walk," I grasped his hand in mine and attempted to pull him up from his sitting position. "Come on."  
  
Spot didn't fight back from being dragged along on my walk after that. I wasn't quite sure if he actually wanted to go on a walk or he just wasn't up to resisting. Either way, it wasn't long until we were completely out of sight from his docks.  
  
"So why'd you want to go on a walk?" He asked me, hanging his cane on his belt loop.  
  
I shrugged, "Just felt like it... after all that mess with Kerry, it's nice to get out."  
  
"Oh... yeah." I was sure by the tone of his voice that Kerry was NOT the subject that Spot wanted to be on, "He's alright then? After last night?" I wondered for a moment what Spot was talking about, but then I remembered. Kerry had been drunk last night. "MacKilligan doesn't usually get that drunk... maybe a little bit, but not so drunk that he'd pass out. I hate it when they do that. Buttons turned up out cold on the docks this mornin' too."  
  
I nodded, "I know."  
  
"How'd you know?" He asked, seeming a bit more alert than before.  
  
"I uh... saw him go out last night. He was talking to me." I said, not feeling much like lying to him.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me he was out there?" Spot demanded.  
  
"I dunno, didn't seem important."  
  
"What? It's important when MacKilligan gets drunk all over himself, but when one of me other boys does it, it doesn't matter?" He looked angry, and I looked at my feet.  
  
"I was angry with him... He was gonna tell Kerry lies about me." I said lamely.  
  
"Did he?"  
  
"Yeah. He did." I said plainly, feeling like a total fool.  
  
Spot looked concerned for a moment before he smirked, "What sort of lies, Doll-Face?" he said mockingly.  
  
I glanced back down at my feet, "He told Kerry I was sleepin' with you... 'cause he saw me come out of your room last night."  
  
Spot shut his mouth, and the look about him changed from amusement to a sort of pity. I hated it. "Kerry... He told him that? What'd Kerry do?"  
  
"I told him I loved him, that I wouldn't do that to him. And he believed me." I gave him a half-smile.  
  
"That's good..."  
  
Suddenly we heard a loud boom and looked up to the sky, knowing the thunder was signaling that rain would be flooding down soon.  
  
"Maybe we should go back," Spot began, and no sooner did he speak but droplets of rain started to maul us.  
  
"No way," I said firmly to him. All around, people were clearing the street to get away from the showers that were growing thicker every second.  
  
"What are ya, insane?" Now he had to shout to be heard over the pounding of rain on the street and the sidewalks and the rooftops, even though I was only standing a foot or two away.  
  
Grinning, I turned to run away into the street, which was completely empty. Reaching the middle, I twirled around a few times and then stood there smiling. I loved to stand in the rain, and it was especially enjoyable now. It was relieving to not fear that my behavior would elicit a shrill cry of "Anabeth Meyers!" from one of the sisters at the convent. Standing there, feeling my hair and clothes soaking through to my skin, I felt a sense of freedom.  
  
Looking around, I couldn't see Spot anywhere through the thick rain, and I tried to call out to him. Everything was a dull gray color, barely visible. I called out his name again, but there wasn't any response and a frown came across my face as I thought to myself, 'Now where did he go?'  
  
As I started to shout his name a bit louder, I felt someone grab me from behind and lift me a few inches off the ground. Screaming, I was spun around twice and then dropped back to my feet. I whirled around and saw him standing there with that smirk of his.  
  
"So can we go back NOW?" he asked impatiently.  
  
"Of course not," I started to back away. "That stunt bought you five more minutes," I added with a smirk of my own.  
  
Spot followed me as I moved away. "Aw, come on. We'll get sick if we stay out here much longer." He was right, we were both completely drenched, but I was having too much fun. I grinned again, and all it got out of him was, "You're a crazy kid."  
  
"Maybe, but you wouldn't like me any other way." I stopped, letting him catch up with me. As I looked up at him, my smile faded, remembering when we had been walking back from Manhattan that night so many weeks ago, the last time he'd kissed me. I didn't want to be stuck in another situation like that with him again, it seemed like we'd just accepted each other as a friend. Maybe it would just be easier if I left him out of my life. But glancing up into his smoldering green eyes, I didn't want it to be easier. He needed to stop confusing me like that, I enjoyed it too much. "Well... I guess we should go."  
  
I watched Spot as he sauntered into the fog, and then ran up behind him, smiling just a bit. It was a few minutes before we reached the docks, and we were both soaked head to foot. He told me that he was going to go into his room and change his shirt. I shook my head and entered the clubhouse.  
  
"Shortstack!" I heard his worried voice coming from the back of the room, "Bonnie---are you alright? You're soaked..." Kerry rushed over.  
  
"I'm fine," I laughed, shaking some of my wet hair in his face. He laughed.  
  
"You're soaked!"  
  
"Well, it IS raining," I smiled as his hands slowly made their way around my waist. I had to admit, I was cold, and his wrapping himself around me was warming me up. He lightly pushed some of my hair out of my face like he usually did, and planted a kiss on my forehead.  
  
"You could catch your death in that rain, Anabeth," He warned me, not pulling away in the least.  
  
"I know," I smiled, "I just couldn't help myself. I love the rain."  
  
Kerry grinned from ear to ear and said, "I love you."  
  
I kissed him softly and replied, "I love you, too." 


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Hey, it's me Shortstack! Thanks to me, the last A/N with the cookies was erased.. sorry! So cookies to EVERYBODY! Reviewers, readers, people who don't care in the least, everyone gets a cookie! Except me, of course, since it's my fault. Anyway, sorry we haven't updated in awhile, but school has once again claimed right to our existences. But enjoy this chapter, it's where things begin to turn towards the story's end. Chao!  
  
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After a few minutes, Kerry went upstairs to talk with Fishface again. I supposed they still had a lot to discuss, after she had broken the news of her engagement to him. He hadn't indicated that he knew, but I had overheard them talking and knew how apprehensive he must be feeling about letting her go so far away. It was a slightly similar situation to Patrick's, but there's a big difference between letting your little sister go across the river and letting her go across the country.  
  
I'd been sitting in the main room on the side by myself, watching a few newsboys play poker, when Spot Conlon walked in. Glancing at him, I couldn't help but burst out laughing at the sight. He'd changed into a deep blue shirt that was nearly flat with creases, obviously it had been folded and left for awhile. Walking over to me, he attempted to pull some of the folds out with his hands, well aware that he looked ridiculous.  
  
Seeing me nearly doubling over in my laughter, he smirked and said, "What? At least I'm the one in a dry shirt."  
  
I was still laughing and barely managed to choke out the words, "How'd your shirt get like that?"  
  
"I have to keep it under me mattress, you saw that there ain't any other place to put it in my room." As I tried to calm myself down to mere giggling, he continued. "Damn it, I'm probably gonna be sick now, thanks to you."  
  
"Don't be a baby," I responded, rolling my eyes and smiling again. "It's bad for your reputation."  
  
Spot gave me another one of his arrogant judging glances, and then a half- smile. "You're an odd girl, Anabeth." Then he glanced around the room, saying, "It's gonna be cold tonight. I'll have to go back to the lodging house, sleepin' in the back when it's freezin' won't help me much after today." He brought his gaze back to me, his eyes laughing. "Why would anybody in his right mind wanna stand out in the rain?" All that got him was another roll of my eyes.  
  
"Well, mister Conlon," I said mockingly, "since you're going back to the lodging house, I suppose you're going to make me stay here and get sick. How very typical." I shook my head back and forth a few times disapprovingly.  
  
"Serves you right for making me stay outside when it was pourin'." I knew he was joking, but it was still annoying. There was clearly no limit to this boy's arrogance.  
  
But it would be aggravating to be huddled up on my mattress in the cold in my wet clothes later. I wished I could go back to Manhattan and stay with Patrick for the night, he wouldn't make me sleep in an empty cold room until morning. Then suddenly I thought of what it would be like when I left Brooklyn for good, when my brother finally found somewhere for the two of us to stay. I knew he'd be with me, that was just the way he was. Wholesome as oatmeal.  
  
It would be strange to not wake up in Spot's clubhouse and see him and Kerry and Fishface and all the others every day. I'd gotten used to it, and it had never crossed my mind that eventually I would have to leave it behind. I wondered if maybe I could stay for a lot longer than my brother had planned, I was actually enjoying it, though it would have been nice to get away from the docks more often. But if I stayed here indefinitely, I could learn my way around the city and go off on my own. In my heart, I knew that I couldn't stay though. At some point, Spot Conlon would want me to leave so that I wouldn't be a concern anymore.  
  
When I leave, I thought, will I ever see Kerry again? Of course you will, I told myself. You know he'll come see you all the time, as willingly as he gives up bread to give you flowers every morning. That still worried me, and I intended to address him about it later.  
  
"Heya Shortstack," My brother had come to see me that day, for the second day in a row, and frankly, I was a little bit worried. Was there something wrong in Manhattan?  
  
"Patrick! What's wrong?" I asked, genuinely worried.  
  
He just laughed, "Nothin's WRONG, Anabeth, I just came to tell you, I've started a new job. At this factory in Manhattan. Just wanted to bring ya the news. We'll be gettin' a place to stay soon." He grinned.  
  
I embraced him, and he lifted me off the ground in a hug and twirled me around aimlessly. "Patrick, put me down!" I yelled amidst laughing.  
  
It wasn't long until our joyous reunion turned serious, "Say Patrick, whatever happened to our parents?" I asked him, my hand slipping to my neckline. To the necklace that had been my mother's.  
  
Patrick glanced down at his boots, just as Kerry had when I asked about his family. "Wh-why are ya askin' about that now?"  
  
It had come out of nowhere, but curiosity was nearly consuming me everytime I touched my necklace. "Patrick," I asked him a bit softer, "where are they?"  
  
He still hadn't looked back up at me, and I could barely hear him, "Ya really wanna know?"  
  
I nodded. "Why wouldn't I?"  
  
Looking back up, he glanced around the room nervously, and then grabbed my wrist. "Come on, we can't talk about it here," he pulled me outside. We walked over to the group of crates that I had hidden behind so long ago to get a moment alone, and he motioned for me to sit down on one while he continued standing in front of me.  
  
Gulping, he stared right into my eyes, and I saw a fear growing on his face. "Do you... do you remember anythin'? I mean, anythin' about before you were at the convent?"  
  
For the millionth time in my life, I searched my memories as far back as they would take me, but the first thing I could remember was waking up in my bed in the convent when I was nearly six. For some reason everything before that was erased, and I couldn't find it no matter how hard I tried.  
  
"No," I shook my head. "I remember six, but nothin' else."  
  
"Good," now there was something else in his eyes that I had never seen before, sadness. "You shouldn't have to remember." He paused, his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at me. Nothing else was said for several minutes, but I didn't push him. If I had known how obviously difficult this would be for him, I never would have asked.  
  
"Shorts," he started, and then stopped again for a few seconds. "Just because somebody does somethin' wrong... it doesn't make them a bad person. Okay? I don't want ya to hate anyone after this, it wasn't anybody's fault, 'specially yours. Okay?" Patrick was talking to me just like I was six years old again, so I nodded to humor him. "Cause Ma, and even Pop, they loved us. But sometimes people just can't handle their problems, y'know? I mean, she got sick and he just... lost it. And I..." Were those tears forming in my brother's eyes? He had never cried, as far as I knew, he didn't know how. "I didn't want us to be there anymore, I didn't want you there. It was too much... to sit there and watch him push ya against the wall and yell at ya and then start punchin' and slappin'." Seeing Patrick start to cry made me feel tears beginning to blind me, and the vision of him in front of me became a blur. "You'd cry yourself to sleep and I knew I wouldn't be a good big brother if I let you stay there. And then that one day... right before she died, he came at me with the fireplace poker," he reached up and touched his side right above his hip, "I knew I had to get you outta there." I wiped the tears out of my eyes just in time to see his begin to escape. Jumping up and wrapping my arms around his waist, I felt like a small child. Crying into his shoulder, I listened as he tried to talk around the sobs coming out of his throat. "So one night while he was sleepin', I woke you up and we left. Just like that, all we had to do was walk away. Before we left I got her necklace for ya, you always loved it so much. I'd heard about the convent a couple of blocks away, and it was the only place I could think of to go. They were real nice to us, let us stay there for a few days. You slept through most of it." He stopped talking long enough to kiss my forehead. "Somebody told me that I was a good age to start sellin' newspapers, so I did. But they wouldn't let me bring you with me, to the lodgin' house in Manhattan. The only choice I had was to leave ya there, I didn't want to, but I had to." I pulled my head off of his arm and looked up at him, nodding to let him know that it was okay. "I missed ya like crazy, but I knew you were okay. He wasn't gonna hurt you anymore."  
  
I spent almost an hour after Patrick left staring out at the river, just trying to make sense of everything he'd told me all at once. How could all of that have happened and I not remember it? It wasn't fair to Patrick. Why should he have had to spend his entire life remembering the image of his father coming at him with a fireplace poker when all I could remember were happy days at the convent? It wasn't fair at all.  
  
As I felt a rough hand touch my shoulder, I jumped. Kerry jumped back as well.  
  
"Sorry Shorts, I didn't mean to scare you!" He exclaimed, and seeing my tear-strained face, he paused, then as gently as he could with his rough ink-stained hands, he wiped one of my tears away, "What's wrong, Bonnie?"  
  
"Nothin', Kerry," I said, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eye. He leaned over and kissed my forehead.  
  
"Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me about it if you need to..." He trailed off and rested his forehead on mine, "Just know that, alright?"  
  
I nodded and forced a smile, "I know, Kerry." I let my lips slip up and lightly kissed him on the lips, "Thanks."  
  
He grinned, and alas, I was forced to actually grin back at him, "I need to go though, I'll see you later tonight?" he offered.  
  
"Sure." I nodded, and he kissed me once more, his hand slipping down to nearly the bottom of my waist.  
  
I stared, smiling as he walked off and turned around, grinning at me, though I knew he wondered what was wrong, it was nice to see him smile at me. It was then that that oh-so-annoying sandy-haired newsboy came swaggering past Kerry MacKilligan, and Kerry gave him the stare of death, yet kept on walking to wherever it was he had to go.  
  
"Well, if it ain't Miss Meyers," Buttons mocked Kerry's accent poorly as his eyes rolled, "What you been cryin' for Miss Meyers?" He put his hand on my face and I slapped it away.  
  
"Stop it. Now." I demanded.  
  
"Or what?" He said, obviously, Buttons was even more 'fond of the pint' than Kerry MacKilligan and had spent another morning drinking.  
  
"Or I'll tell your oh-so-fearless leader." I said, it wasn't a good threat at all, but at least it caused him to stagger back a little.  
  
"I'll be seeing you," He said dizzily as he walked backward towards the clubhouse.  
  
Everything went in a blur. Patrick. He had endured so much in his life, yet for some reason always put me ahead of himself. And Kerry. Kerry was soft- spoken, yet rough, he had this look in his eyes that made me want to hug him, this way that he smiled, that had forced me to smile at him so many times before, this way he would always turn around to take one last glance, give one last smile, before he went to sell the afternoon edition, this way of loving me that never ceased to amaze me. And Spot. I wasn't sure what I was feeling for Spot. For the longest time I had hated him. Then that one night, he kissed me under the streetlight, and I couldn't hate him anymore, yet I didn't love him either. For the moment, we were only friends. And I supposed that that was the way it should stay.  
  
I hadn't moved yet. Still standing on the docks, reflecting on my day, I jumped a bit as Kerry snuck up on me again. He grinned.  
  
"You haven't moved," He pointed out, laughing a bit.  
  
"Why no, I haven't, have I?" I said, for the first time that day, laughing.  
  
"How was your day?" He asked, a bit more serious this time.  
  
"It was... eventful." I didn't mention what my brother had told me that morning, "Yours?"  
  
"It was alright. Oh and Bonnie? I wanted to apologize... for the other night, y'know, when I was drunk. I don't... usually do that." He glanced at his boots.  
  
I stammered for a moment, "That's alright Kerry," I managed to choke out awkwardly. He grinned.  
  
"Thanks for being so understandin', Shorts." He kissed me on the forehead again, and glanced down at my blouse. I had unbuttoned it again to look at my necklace, yet I didn't bother to re-button it. His fingers trailed down to my neckline and then to my necklace.  
  
"That's beautiful," He paused, "Just like you."  
  
I looked up into his eyes, "It was my mother's." I don't suppose he noticed that his hand was slipping further down my neckline than he intended until his hand hit the first buttoned up button on my blouse, just above my chest. He blushed and took his hand back quickly.  
  
"Sorry," He said, pushing some of his long brown hair behind his ear nervously.  
  
It was dark by then, and it was starting to get cold, so I inched nearer to him, in hopes that his body would bring in more warmth, which it did when he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into a passionate kiss.  
  
I don't know exactly what we were thinking, but I started to push him backwards, and he didn't fight back, my hand found the doorknob that nobody else could see, and his kiss still lingering on my lips, we entered Spot Conlon's room.  
  
I don't know if Kerry knew where we were or not, but as I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, I don't think he cared all that much. Gently, he unbuttoned mine as well and pulled me into another kiss, falling back onto the mattress against the wall.  
  
His fingers trickled down my neckline again, yet they stopped on my collarbone and he smiled sheepishly, "I always loved that part of women."  
  
"What?" I asked, feeling my ears turn red, "Their breasts?"  
  
He blushed, though I'm not sure why, and shook his head, "This right here." He let his fingers land on the small space just above my breasts, and then, his bare chest pressing down on my stomach, he kissed it. I giggled, not exactly sure what he was doing, but he made his way with kisses back up to my mouth, and I found the piece of cloth that held his hair back in a pony tail and pulled it out into my hand, letting his hair fall onto his face.  
  
Growing up in a convent, I was taught that perfection was not possible on Earth. Though that night, those hours I spent with Kerry MacKilligan, sweet love in the death cold of February, I realized that they were wrong. Those hours alone with him, those hours could not have been more perfect. 


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hey y'all! It's Shortstack again. Fishface and I are SOOOO sorry that we haven't updated in so long, but we had some trouble with writer's block. But the chapter is finally ready, and it's a long one! I was going to try and do cookies, but they'll just have to wait till the next A/N, sorry. Well, enough of my rambling, on to the long chapter!  
  
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I woke, half-expecting to let the light fall down on my face and have to put up with Fishface's incessant giggling. Yet as I opened my eyes, I realized that everything was dark, and that there was someone sleeping with me. I smiled. Kerry was breathing steadily as he slept, his hand wrapped around my waist. As I moved, his eyes fluttered open.  
  
"You're awake," He said groggily. I nodded, he seemed to be tired, and I smiled as I remembered why. He grinned back sleepily, and then closed his eyes, bringing his face close and resting his forehead on mine.  
  
I didn't want to break the blissful silence of the moment, but I had to. "We should probably be gettin' outta here soon," I whispered softly.  
  
"Mmhmm..." was his quiet reply as his eyes remained closed, making me smile again.  
  
I wondered what time it was, and hoped to God that Spot Conlon wasn't back from selling the morning edition. Just as I was about to say that we should leave again, he opened his mouth and said quietly, "Sorry I slept so late, I would have brought you flowers..."  
  
I bit my lip, not knowing exactly what to say. Kerry had brought me flowers every morning since the first time he'd told me he loved me, excepting the morning that Buttons had told him I was sleeping with Spot. I had heard him talking with Fishface about how he gave up food for them. I sighed, his lips were almost touching mine as we talked, and the fear that Spot Conlon would suddenly burst in and find the two of us lying in his bed naked and entangled in each other's arms was growing on my mind. "You don't need to buy me flowers, Kerry. Use your money on something more important."  
  
"But it is important," He sighed, then gently kissed my lips, his eyes opening, "What could be more important?"  
  
"You eating, Kerry," There. I had said what I wanted to say. I trailed my finger down the side of his face, I added, "I heard you and Fishface talking..."  
  
He closed his eyes again and gave me an agreeable murmur. "So instead of flowers today," He said thoughtfully, "Hows about we go and get some breakfast together?" He grinned, opening his eyes and planting a firm kiss on my forehead before he rolled over off of Spot Conlon's mattress onto the floor.  
  
I watched intently as he pulled his trousers on, then his undershirt and the green plaid shirt that he always wore. He looked like the same old Kerry as he pulled on his boots, except for the fact that his hair was falling all over his face, and he kept pushing it away. Slowly I opened my hand, where I held the bit of cloth that usually held the hair out of his face. He turned and smiled at me, taking it and tying his hair back in a ponytail.  
  
I too decided that I had to begin moving, just in case someone came. I slowly pulled on my calico skirt, and then buttoned up my blouse all the way to the top. Kerry took his jacket that had been thrown to the side the night before and wrapped it around my shoulders and he began buttoning the edges of his sleeves, "It's going to be cold."  
  
I could already tell from the temperature in Spot's room that it was a cold February morning, and was, in fact, glad that he'd left me to freeze to death in his clubhouse all alone... with Kerry. I smiled.  
  
When we entered the restaurant, there was hardly anyone there. From the way the dew was almost dry, I assumed that it was late morning. I thanked God that Kerry and I weren't late sleepers. But COULD a newsie be a late sleeper? Kerry smiled as he rummaged through his pocket for some money when the waiter brought us our plates of eggs and sausage. He managed to scrounge up a quarter to pay for the meal, and grinned triumphantly.  
  
As soon as the waiter walked away, Kerry hunched over his food and started greedily stuffing it into his mouth. I stared at him for a moment before picking up my fork and taking a bite of the eggs. Honestly, they weren't all that good, but I supposed I should have just been happy it wasn't that disgusting mush that Spot had fed me.  
  
I frowned, "It's not going to run away from you, Kerry." I said, trying not to worry about the way he was acting.  
  
He suddenly blushed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "Sorry. Just really hungry, you know..."  
  
I nodded, then thought for a moment, "Kerry, when was the last time you ate?"  
  
He frowned and glanced upward, starting to count on his fingers, "Tuesday I think?" He asked himself, "No wait, Monday night." He said firmly, nodding, "Monday night, Anabeth," He said to me, smiling and taking another bite of his sausage, this time with a little more finesse.  
  
"MONDAY?" I demanded, "Kerry, that was four days ago!"  
  
Kerry frowned, "I know." He then smiled and leaned over, kissing my forehead, "It's alright though. As long as I got me smile, me dreams, and me love, it's alright."  
  
I smiled, "How can you be so sure of everythin'?" I wondered, more to myself than to Kerry. He just shook his head, chuckling silently to himself.  
  
"I ain't sure of anythin' anymore, Bonnie."  
  
Well that made two of us.  
  
Wouldn't you know it, at that moment the one and only Spot Conlon came through the door, but not with his usual arrogant stride. He was practically hunched over, sneezing twice as the little bell jingled above him. Recovering, he looked up and his tired eyes found me sitting across the restaurant. Kerry's back was to the door, so he hadn't seen his leader walk in.  
  
He stumbled over towards us, grabbing an extra chair from an empty table. When he reached us, he pushed the chair up to the table and sat down casually. Kerry looked at him curiously, and I looked down at my plate, trying not to meet his eyes.  
  
"Mornin'," Spot yawned.  
  
"Mornin', Spot," Kerry nodded politely, taking another bite of his breakfast. I didn't say anything, and I think Spot took notice of it.  
  
"You don't look too good," Kerry continued.  
  
"Yeah, I'm kinda sick, knew I would be." Spot looked over at me sharply, and I only saw it out of the corner of my eye.  
  
Kerry always seemed like the type to avoid a conflict, and I suppose that's what he was doing now. He glanced at the Spot and then at me, and gulped. "Look, I better go," he stood up. "I got um.. stuff to do."  
  
Still avoiding Spot's gaze, I smiled up at Kerry. "Okay, see ya later." He leaned over and kissed my cheek and then turned towards the door. Opening it, he stopped, turned, and grinned at me. Then he was gone.  
  
Spot didn't waste any time finishing off Kerry's breakfast, and I rolled my eyes at him. Holding the fork halfway up to his mouth, he shrugged and said, "He left, fair game." All I could think of to do was sigh again and take a last bite of my eggs. "So," he started, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "sleep well last night?"  
  
His sarcastic tone aggravated me, and I thought to myself, 'You have no idea, Conlon.' But I nodded lightly and said "Not too bad. How 'bout you?"  
  
"Same as always. Not the best mornin', though." With that, he sneezed again.  
  
"Poor baby," I teased him, and he gave me a small half-smile. It made me develop a sudden infatuation with folding and unfolding my napkin.  
  
"I'm too sick to sell today, thanks to you." He only wanted to get a rise out of me, so I denied it to him and didn't reply. But I did look up across the table at him, and immediately noticed how remorseful he looked. Inwardly I groaned, he must have been thinking about Fishface again.  
  
Suddenly I gasped, but I don't think he heard it. Fishface. She must have noticed that I didn't come upstairs to sleep last night. If she saw me at all later she'd ask a bunch of questions, I knew that. So I made the resolution to avoid her if at all possible. But how was I going to stay away from Spot's clubhouse all day? I had another strange idea, those were becoming more and more frequent with me.  
  
Standing up, I started to try and pull Spot out of his chair. "Come on, we're taking a walk."  
  
As I started walking towards the door, I heard him stand up and groan, "Not again..."  
  
I left the restaurant and stood outside for a moment, thinking which way I needed to go. I chose left, and started walking again, this time I knew where I was going. Even though I didn't once look behind me, I knew Spot was still following me. It was one of those things that you just know.  
  
After about an hour of turning various streets and once again crossing familiar roads, I finally reached the brick building that I knew all too well. Stopping at the metal gate outside, I let Spot catch up with me while I looked through to the other side.  
  
"There it is," I said vaguely.  
  
"There what is?"  
  
"My convent." It seemed like the proper name to give it, despite the sign a few feet away that read 'St. Teresa's'.  
  
Looking at it, I could tell he wasn't impressed. The bricks were old and worn, the windows were extremely dirty, and the shutters were about to fall completely off. Most of the shingles on the roof had been pulled away by bad weather. There wasn't really much left to the tiny building, but it still held most of my memories within its walls. My childhood was trapped inside the bricks and behind the trees, almost singing of afternoon games of hide-and-seek when the sisters weren't looking.  
  
Without a word, I opened the gate, and Spot grimaced at the loud creaking that emerged from the iron hinges. As I walked quickly up through the small yard to the door, I knew again that he was following me. In my mind, I could see him glancing around curiously, and was certain that he was wondering how I could spend my life in a place so small. But then I had wondered once and a while how he could spend his years as a newsboy, though I had never asked.  
  
Softly, I knocked on the door, afraid that if I hit it too hard the entire thing would fall down, it looked as though it would. I heard some excited chattering inside, but no one answered the door for a moment, so I knocked again a bit more firmly.  
  
"Just a minute!" I smiled at the familiar voice that I could hear from behind the door, and when it was opened I was completely pulled into the arms of Sister Agnes.  
  
She almost took the breath out of me clutching me around the waist, and I tried to return her embrace, but she had my arms almost pinned to my sides.  
  
"Anabeth Meyers," she laughed disbelievingly. "Well, child, this is either a blessing or a punishment." She stepped back and gave me a once-over, grinning as if she wasn't sure whether I was real or not.  
  
"I missed you, Sister." I was still smiling, trying to catch my breath from her leap at me. Sister Agnes had always been the cheeriest woman around the convent, I don't think she believed in having a bad day. Seeing her round face grinning from ear to ear and her green eyes shining with friendliness, I remembered all the days when I'd been sick and she'd taken care of me specially, or when she would let me stay up just a few more minutes to finish reading a book.  
  
"Oh, it hasn't been quite the same without you around here, Anabeth. You wouldn't believe how the little girls cried for the first week after you left." Feigning irritation, she shook a finger at me. "Which, by the way, gave us quite a fright, young lady. Did you really think a note was the proper way to let us know you were leaving? And in the middle of the night, no less!" Now she was just exaggerating, and she dropped her facade of anger and smiled again. "Well, come in, tell me how you've been!" She beckoned me with the huge sleeve of her habit, and I turned back to Spot, who was now gazing intently at Sister Agnes. "You, you can come in too." He nodded mechanically, unsure of what else to do. Perhaps he thought he'd be damned if he refused an invitation from a nun. I could tell that he hadn't been around many of them. And I knew that Sister had only invited him in to be polite, she hadn't been around a young man in years undoubtedly.  
  
We came through the doorway, and the first thing I did was look around and take note of how the hallway hadn't changed at all. The same crucifix was still hanging above the entrance to the dining room, the light above the stairway leading upstairs was still dim, and the sound of a dripping faucet still came forth from the kitchen, ever-droning loudly and steadily.  
  
"Come on," Sister's voice brought me back from my thoughts, "let's go in the library."  
  
Hearing that, I ran ahead of her and listened to the creaking of the wooden floor as my boots pounded across it. When I reached the door to the library, I couldn't get it open fast enough. Nearly throwing it, I felt blinded standing there surrounded by the books, hundreds of them. Well, maybe it wasn't hundreds of books, but it was certainly more than I could remember seeing anywhere else. I stood there and inhaled the smell of them, the scent of thousands and thousands of pages filling my senses. There's nothing in the world like the smell of a book, especially a room full of them.  
  
I looked around, it seemed smaller than I remembered. Now I realized that it had never been very big at all, but I still loved it.  
  
Hearing Sister Agnes coming through the doorway, I turned to see her carrying two chairs under her arm. As she pulled them into the middle of the room, I instinctively grabbed the one at the desk against the wall and hauled it over, sitting in it as soon as the legs touched the floor again. Spot had been close behind her, and as she set the chairs down, she motioned with her arm again for him to sit down, and he did so tentatively. She seated herself, and looked around pleasantly.  
  
"So Anabeth, tell me everything, how have you been since you left? Did you find your brother? How is he? Are you living with him in Manhattan or are the two of you staying somewhere nearby? Is he still working as a newsboy?" She was talking so fast that I was struggling to process each question. Seeing her smiling so widely and talking so fast made me think of how alike she and Fishface were, as energetic as puppies. Finally she stopped asking questions and looked at me expectantly, and my mind frantically tried to remember them all.  
  
"Well, um... I'm fine, there really isn't much else to say about that. I... yes, I did meet up with Patrick, the day after I left actually, I couldn't find him during the night." I decided to leave out the parts about being taken to Spot by Kerry, it would probably be wise to leave out Kerry in general. "He seemed great, his usual self, happy as anything. I'm not staying with him in Manhattan, though. I'm actually staying with Spot," I gestured towards him slightly, "here in Brooklyn until Patrick finds somewhere for me to stay with him." That wasn't the brightest thing to say, she might raise questions about my staying with Spot, such as to whether we were alone.  
  
"Spot?" Sister Agnes turned to him and seemed to really notice him for the first time.  
  
"Yeah," he nodded apprehensively, "Spot Conlon." She nodded, confused, and he frowned. I laughed, he was obviously disappointed at meeting someone who had never heard of him.  
  
"Well," I changed the subject. "Where is everyone?"  
  
Happy to talk about something she knew of, Sister waved her arms and said, "Oh, they all went to chapel. The worship hours were changed a bit. I stayed behind to make lunch." Then she gasped loudly. "Lunch! I forgot!" Jumping up, she quickly apologized, "Excuse me," and hurried out the door towards the kitchen.  
  
Since she had left, I took the opportunity to get up from my chair and look around the bookshelves, admiring the worn spines of the books and running my fingertips along the tops of them absentmindedly. Squinting to read the worn titles on them, I recognized books that I'd read years ago, most of them several times. After a moment, my hand came across the book that I had said so long ago reminded me of Spot Conlon. I picked it up off the shelf, turning it over and over in my hands. Cautiously, I looked up at him, but his eyes were distantly staring out the small window between the shelves. He was almost completely different from the boy I had met when I first came to Brooklyn, but not so different that I didn't recognize him. Yet I couldn't help thinking that maybe he wasn't who I had thought he was, perhaps there was much more to Spot than he allowed people to think. I was still staring at him, and I suppose he finally felt it. His eyes shot up and met with mine, and I quickly darted my gaze back to the book I was holding, feeling my face flush lightly.  
  
At that moment Sister Agnes came back in, a bit out of breath. "Sorry, I'd forgotten that bread was still in the oven."  
  
I was still clutching the book, almost protectively. "Um..." Sister looked at me pleasantly. "Sister... do you think I could have this?" I held up the book, and she walked over and took it from me, examining it. It was worn, close to falling apart, so I thought that she wouldn't mind if I kept it.  
  
"Well," she handed it back to me, "I suppose. Nobody ever reads it anymore, anyway. Just don't tell anyone I let you have it." With a wink, she added, "If anyone notices, I'll just say it got torn and thrown away."  
  
"Thank you." I grinned.  
  
I barely remember the rest of the visit, all we really did was talk about our favorite memories of my ten years in the convent. Spot said nothing, he only smiled faintly once and a while, like when Sister mentioned the time I locked myself in the library and refused to let anyone in until I'd organized all of the books by genre and author. I hadn't realized what a strange child I had been until that afternoon.  
  
We had been there for nearly two hours when the rest of the sisters brought back all of the girls from the chapel service. Of course I had to go out into the hallway and politely say hello, so Sister Agnes and I left Spot alone in the library for a few minutes while I hugged everyone. Old jokes were traded, and I received a blessing from each of the sisters. It was time for them to have lunch, so I decided that Spot and I should take our leave. I went back into the library to get him, and was surprised to find him hunched over a shelf, reading some of the book titles.  
  
"Hey," I said softly, and he jumped up, startled. "Everyone's about to eat lunch, so I figured we should leave."  
  
"Okay," he replied. Neither of us moved.  
  
Then I remembered something. "Hey, you wanna see somethin'?" I walked over to him.  
  
"Okay..."  
  
I took a few books off one of the shelves and placed them on the desk next to it. I pointed to the area where they had been, and he squinted, trying to read the scratches that had been hidden behind them. After a second, I saw on his face that he understood them, and he smiled. The night I'd left, I'd clumsily scratched my name into the wood of the shelf behind those books with a knife from the kitchen. We both straightened up and shared a small laugh as I replaced the books where they had been resting.  
  
"So I guess we should go back to the docks."  
  
I was still trying to avoid Fishface, and said quickly, "No, I'm not ready to go back." He raised that eyebrow at me, but it didn't vex me so much as it once had. Then he sneezed, and it sent me into a light laugh again.  
  
"Well, what else is there to do?"  
  
"Hmmmmm..." I pretended to be thinking. "There's always church?" I suggested playfully.  
  
"I don't think so, Doll-Face."  
  
Then we were silent, trying to find something else to say. I gave the room a last glance around, inhaling the smell of the pages again.  
  
"Let's go." I turned and walked out the door, knowing yet again that he was behind me this time.  
  
Poking my head into the dining room, everyone looked up at me. "We're leaving now, it was wonderful to see all of you again." The sooner I could get rid of this uptight way of talking, the better. "I'll miss you."  
  
Not waiting for a reply, I left and headed towards the front door where Spot was waiting for me. I suddenly had the urge to get out of there quickly. But as I had my hand on the doorknob, Sister Agnes came hurrying down the hall from the kitchen holding something folded in a napkin.  
  
"Wait, Anabeth." As she reached me, she pushed the napkin into my hand, and I tried to hold both it and the book at the same time. "Some bread for later, just in case you get hungry." For some reason, her gesture made me frown slightly. "Tell your brother hello for all of us, and take care of yourself, all right?" I nodded, and she pulled me in for another tight hug. As I pulled away and grabbed the doorknob again, she smiled at Spot, a simple regard and nothing more. "And remember, if you ever need anything, you know where we are."  
  
"Okay," I turned around and headed out the door, Spot nearly stepping on my heels behind me. We walked down to the gate, and I turned back and waved at her round figure still in the doorway. She simply called out a blessing, smiled once again, and then shut the door. As I closed the iron gate behind us, I think I knew in my heart that I would never come back again.  
  
Spot and I walked lazily back up the street towards the main part of Brooklyn, since we were a bit out of the way from the city. After a few moments, he attempted to start a conversation.  
  
"So... what book did ya get?"  
  
I handed it to him, and he studied the cover for a moment, then handed it back to me.  
  
"What's it about?"  
  
Blushing slightly, I responded, "It's that book that I said you reminded me of. Remember?"  
  
"Yeah. The one about the evil king and the good twin?" I nodded in reply. Silent once again, his hand drifted up to the gold tip of his cane, ever- hanging from his belt loop. I was relieved, at least he wasn't walking with it again. That would've been quite annoying, I thought.  
  
"Well, what do ya wanna do now?" he asked.  
  
"Um... what is there to do?"  
  
"I don't know. I'm usually sellin' now." He was quiet for a second, and then seemed suddenly struck with an idea. "We could go up to Manhattan?"  
  
"Nah, I don't feel like it." I slowed my pace, liking the leisure of our walk. As I looked up at the sky, I thought that perhaps if it weren't so cold and cloudy, it would have been a rather nice day. Hopefully it wouldn't rain again. "Wait, I have an idea."  
  
I grabbed his wrist to lead him this time, all the way to a park not far from the docks. Amidst all the children running around chasing each other, I spotted an empty bench nearby and headed towards it. Reaching it, I sat down and motioned slightly for him to join me. He just gave me a curious glance and complied, sitting down stiffly.  
  
Unfolding the napkin Sister Agnes had given me, I found a good-sized piece of bread and tore it in half. Handing one half to him, I took a bite out of the other.  
  
"So," Spot took a bite and then continued with his mouth full, a habit which disgusted me, "what are we doin' here?"  
  
Swallowing the bread in my mouth, I put the book in my lap and grinned playfully. "I'm gonna read to ya."  
  
He nearly choked. "WHAT?"  
  
"You heard me, we're gonna sit here and I'm gonna read some of this book to ya. And you'd better enjoy it."  
  
"I really think you're crazy..." He took another bite and I smiled. Even if I was crazy, there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
So we spent an afternoon in the park, basking in our idleness. Before I could start to read, I had to explain to him what had already happened in the story, since it was the final part of a long series. At first he was rather bored, but when I mentioned murders and assassins and swordfights, his interest was grabbed. I had to familiarize him with all of the characters and all of the events that had already happened, and that alone took over an hour. Finally around three in the afternoon, I opened the book and began reading the first chapter.  
  
A couple of hours passed, but don't even try to ask me exactly how many. Even if Spot wasn't listening to the book, I was enthralled with it and lost myself among the words as I let them flow across my tongue. At some point, I leaned back against Spot in an effort to find a more comfortable sitting position. About four pages into the fourteenth chapter, I was distracted though.  
  
"'Friendship, I repeat, is nothing but a mere unsubstantial shadow and a lure, like everything else in this world which is bright and dazzling.'" Finishing this sentence, I glanced up and noticed that the sunset was almost over, and paused for a moment to watch it as always. I wasn't sure if Spot was paying any attention, he may have even fallen asleep. So I was content to watch the sunset on my own.  
  
It occured to me at that moment how much being with Spot then reminded me of lazy moments with Kerry. I leaned back a bit more, and everything felt just right. Thinking of Kerry for the first time in hours, I briefly compared him to the Brooklyn leader I was sitting with. Of course Kerry was more gentle and tender than I could ever imagine Spot to be, but suddenly they didn't seem so different. Each was probably as noble and caring as the other, it just wasn't in Spot's nature to show that. Besides, being with Spot, something was missing that I had with Kerry. Or perhaps, I thought in the deepest part of my mind, there's something more.  
  
Closing my eyes, no longer watching the sun sinking beneath the horizon, I tried to put the thoughts out of my mind. I loved Kerry, it was as simple as that. Whatever I felt for Spot Conlon, it couldn't possibly be love. Maybe it was compassion, maybe I pitied him. I didn't love him, I kept repeating it over and over in my mind in the silence. But suddenly I was aware of that tiny twinge of guilt which contains the unescapable truth.  
  
It was pitch dark when we approached the docks, I carried the book under my arm, and Spot sauntered steadily behind me, this time at least not stabbing his cane into the ground. To replace his usual tap of the cane, he did, however, add in a usual sniff of the nose. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my handkerchief, sticking it up against his nose, giving him the command: "Blow."  
  
He raised that oh-so-arrogant eyebrow at me, "Blow?" He questioned.  
  
"Yes. Blow your nose. I'm sick of hearing 'sniff sniff sniff' all the time, now blow." I pushed the handkerchief up farther on his nose as we walked, but as we neared the dock, I dropped it in shock, just as he blew snot onto the ground and all over himself.  
  
"My God..." I neared the figure of a young man, stooped over on the ground, coughing, "Who the hell is that? What happened?" I ran towards the man, and as he looked up, I gasped when I recognized the familiar face. "Kerry..."  
  
As he tried to speak, I examined his face. His mouth was bleeding and there were bruises all along his cheeks, but I was certain by the way he was hunching over that his face wasn't what was hurting the most. His arm was wrapped around his chest, and he grimaced, "A-abeth, I' sorry..." his speech slurred and I turned around and looked at Spot, who had a horrified look on his face.  
  
"How..." He stuttered, "What happened MacKilligan?"  
  
Kerry just groaned.  
  
I bit my lip, "Spot. Go back to the convent. Tell them we need a doctor." He faltered for a moment until I snapped at him, "GO." And turned back to Kerry, pushing some of his hair out of his face and pressing my lips lightly to his forehead. 


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Hallo there! Fishface here... signing in to give out cookies. Sorry I haven't done this in so long... hmmm. I'll start with the Chapter 17 (wowzers.) reviewers: Cookie goes to umm... (yes. That's how it's signed.), another one to Miss PunK, and thanks, we try to update ASAP but school... it's demanding. Another cookie to liberty's gypsy. Yum. Cookies. *steals one for herself and brags about what a great cook she is* oh! another one for FlutterFly! Oh and one for Tiger17, who DEFINATELY boosted my confidence coming from writing the end of chapter 17! aiiiee, the biggest cookie to you. One for Miracle too! and one for Anna C.! And for Lyra Torg, Snooza1 *grabs a sandwhich from the picnic and hands her a cookie* mmm.. peanutbutter. Another one for Devonny, and of course for MegabeeAthelete, and last one: for Reffy, for sitting around all day and reading our story. Don't worry hun, I do it all the time XD Alright. *eats leftover cookies* On to the fic.  
  
* * * *  
  
I stared at Kerry for a few moments longer, but I couldn't take it anymore. His blue eyes were pleading with me to take him somewhere where he could lay down, but he still didn't say anything. I gently put my hand under his arm, and tried to pull him to his feet, for a moment, he couldn't move, and he just grasped at his stomach, but soon, I supposed he mustered all of his strength to stand up, and he did. I would have carried him, had he not been almost a foot taller than me, so for the moment, no matter how much it pained him, he was going to have to walk.  
  
When we finally reached the clubhouse, I contemplated where to put him. The lower room was empty; all the Brooklyn boys had gone to see the vaudeville again, all except Kerry and Spot. After a moments glance around the room for anywhere I could lay him, I determined that the only place to lay him down would be in the upstairs room.  
  
I glanced at him; I could tell that he was having a hard time standing... how on EARTH was I going to get him up the eight stairs? My eyes shifted towards them and I frowned. Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder, sneaking like he always did, I jumped.  
  
"I can do it..." It was the first thing he had said that I could clearly understand, though it was still a bit slurred.  
  
I bit my lip nervously. Avoiding his eyes, I put his arm around my shoulder, and one by one, we climbed up each step.  
  
As we stepped in, I heard a shriek and a thump. Fishface.  
  
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" She cried out loud, "Kerry, what happened? What happened, Shorts? What happened?" was all she could scream. I shook my head as I shifted Kerry down onto my mattress. He closed his eyes and half-way smiled, as if in thanks.  
  
I turned back around to Fishface, who was backing away, nearly in tears, she was swearing under her breath, "Damn it Kerry, what happened?"  
  
I stared at her and shook my head, and she silenced.  
  
It must have been ten minutes before I heard the tiniest noise but Kerry MacKilligan's rasping breath, and his baby sister trying to suppress her sobs and swears. In fact, it had been so long that I almost jumped when the door to the upstairs room opened, and Spot entered with an unfamiliar man. I stared at him as if he were a lunatic, bringing a stranger in the room.  
  
"You told me to go and get a doctor, he's a doctor!" Spot said, looking around as if he was thinking, 'What? Did I get the wrong guy?'  
  
I stuttered for a moment, "Thanks Spot." I paused before looking over the man, who Spot had apparently awaken from his night's sleep, "His name is Kerry MacKilligan, we found him out on the docks like this... is he going to be okay?" I suddenly realized how panicked I was, and tried to control my breathing.  
  
The doctor blinked at me, "I would like to do a thorough examination, and it would be appreciated if you would all leave the room."  
  
I stared at him blankly. Leave? Now? Not when Kerry was like this. "But Kerry-"  
  
Spot grabbed my arm gently, "He'll be fine with the doctor, Anabeth," he said softly.  
  
Kerry's eyes fluttered open and he said in agreement, "I 'e fi'e." His speech was starting to slur again, and I could hardly understand what he said.  
  
When we exited the room, I stared at the two of my companions. Fishface was positively trembling.  
  
"DAMNIT." Spot suddenly shoved his fist against the wall, and I stared at him, not quite sure what to think, "Damn it..." he said much quieter, turning around and leaning his back against the wall. His hand was twitching...again.  
  
He paced down the stairs, and Fishface followed in suite. And what can I say? I went after them.  
  
Spot continued, "God. Why does MacKilligan always have to get himself so goddamn drunk all the time?" He practically shouted, "I mean, he's got a girl, he's got a job, what the hell could be so bad that he has ta go gettin hisself all drunk all the goddamn time?"  
  
Fishface stared at Spot, nearly in tears as she sunk down onto a crate, I stared at Spot in disbelief. How could he say something like that? He glanced over at the brunette, sobbing now, he looked regretful for a moment, and another silence fell over us. This time, however, Ruth MacKilligan openly sobbed her eyes out.  
  
It must have been a half hour before the doctor finally emerged the room. He looked a bit annoyed, yet not completely upset.  
  
"He'll be alright," My heart leapt, "Just let him rest up there for a few days, and don't even think about moving him."  
  
Spot thanked the doctor, and he left, leaving Spot, Fishface, and myself standing in the lower room of the clubhouse. Fishface was wiping away her tears, and nodding to herself, reassuring herself that the doctor was right. Spot had finally found a cigarette, and I wiped my hands off on my skirt before stating, "I'm going up to see him."  
  
As soon as I had got up to the third stair, I knew that Fishface was only a step underneath me, and honestly, I couldn't blame her. If Patrick had come home looking like that, I would be upset too.  
  
When I opened the door, I saw Kerry laying there still. He coughed a bit, and opened his eyes to look at us, "Anabeth... Ruthy..."  
  
I smiled lightly and walked further into the room, kneeling down onto the floor next to him. His younger sister followed in suite.  
  
"Hey Ruth," He said, his speech wasn't so slurred anymore, "Couldjya take me slingshot out of me back pocket... it's painin' my backside." He gave his sister a half-smile, and she wiped away the last of her tears for the night, "Don't cry..."  
  
Fishface laughed, perhaps a little dryly, "You scared me -us- so badly Kerry." She brushed some of the hair out of his face, the way he always did to me when he was worried, "I thought you were gonna die."  
  
Kerry gave her another half-smile as she leaned over and pulled the slingshot out of his back pocket, "I'm never gonna die, Ruthy."  
  
"You'd better not, MacKilligan," She playfully grinned at her brother. "Or you'll have me to deal with. And I bet that impeccable aim of yours was inherited from somewhere." She aimed the unloaded slingshot at him and laughed. I remembered that I had once wondered whether or not Kerry and Fishface had moments like Patrick and I did, and I smiled as I witnessed one such moment.  
  
After a few more moments of conversation with her brother, Fishface informed us that she was going to try to get some sleep; she had had a tiring day (Though I wasn't quite sure where she had gone). I sat next to Kerry, holding his hand, smiling softly. I told myself that I wouldn't go to sleep until I was almost certain he was in his own world of dreams, and as he breathed steadily, I let go of his hand, slipping towards another corner, where a vacant mattress lay. I had slept on the same one since I'd come to Brooklyn, but that night, it was occupied.  
  
"Wai'" I heard Kerry slur, I turned around and looked at him, he had his hand out stretched towards mine, apparently, he had not been asleep at all. I slipped back next to him, and took his hand again.  
  
"Yeah?" I whispered softly, not wanting to wake Fishface.  
  
"It's nothin', I just wanted to talk to ya..." Kerry shut his eyes lightly for a moment, before opening them again. "'Bout what, Kerry?" I said, taking the MacKilligan role and brushing his hair back out of his eyes.  
  
"Just about... stuff." He gave me a half-smile.  
  
"What kind of... stuff?"  
  
He stared at me blankly, "I don't think I deserve you..." he said it plain and simply, "I mean, I get so jealous, and I do things...like this." He stopped, and I finally began to understand what happened...just a bit.  
  
"Don't talk like that Kerry-"  
  
"I'm just tellin' the truth, Shorts. I saw you and Spot together today...and I lost it again. I can't keep doin' things like this...I'm just gonna end up hurtin' you."  
  
I blinked, "You couldn't hurt me Kerry..." he closed his eyes and muttered something that I couldn't understand, and I remembered that afternoon with Spot. I remembered how when I was with him, there seemed to be something more. And I closed my eyes. My God...I couldn't be in love with him. I couldn't love him. I just...couldn't. He had brought misery to my life since the day I left the convent. But then there were those precious moments, when we kissed under the streetlamp, when we sat in the middle of the park and I read Dumas to him. But when I was with Kerry, he made me feel safe, and he cared about me so deeply. So as I sat there, holding Kerry MacKilligan's hand, I had to wonder to myself, was it possible to love two people at once?  
  
Soon, his grip on my hand loosened, and I knew he had fallen asleep. I was about to climb onto the empty mattress nearby and go to sleep myself, but I heard the clubhouse door open and then a shout downstairs. Seeing that neither Kerry nor Fishface had woken up at the sound, I left the room, shutting the door quietly, and went downstairs at a sprint.  
  
Descending the stairway, the first thing that caught my eye was a bruised and bloody Buttons laying on the floor in the middle of the room. Spot and another newsboy were standing over him, and Spot was gaping in shock.  
  
"Wha- what happened?" Spot stuttered and looked from Buttons to the other boy, whom I had seen around a few times before.  
  
I walked over to them and knelt beside Buttons, but neither of the boys said anything to me.  
  
"That fight with MacKilligan, that's what," the boy said matter-of-factly, as if we should have already known.  
  
"MacKilligan and Buttons got into a fight?" Spot still sounded disbelieving.  
  
"Yeah, while we were on our way to the vaudeville show. Buttons was with us when the lot of us ran into MacKilligan, he was comin' back from the pub, dead drunk. Him and Buttons traded a few words, then a few punches. Don't really remember what they was talkin' about, but before long, they both look like this," he pointed towards Buttons, who was laying there panting with his eyes closed. "MacKilligan went off on his own back toward here, and we got to the show and then figured Buttons needed to come back, too."  
  
I just shook my head, not wanting to believe what I was hearing. Looking down at Buttons, I didn't feel the least bit of sympathy for him. It was wrong, but I told myself that he deserved to be hurt. But Kerry, he didn't deserve anything like this.  
  
Spot sighed over my shoulder. "Damn, don't think we can get that doctor to come back tonight." I looked behind me as he stood up and walked towards the wall. "This is just GREAT!" he threw his fist into the side of the clubhouse. "Perfect!" Then came a string of swears from under his breath, as his hand twitched again. For once I could understand why he would need a cigarette so badly. After a moment, he took another deep breath and spoke to the boy who had dragged Buttons in. "Go back to the lodgin' house, we'll figure this out tomorrow." He ran a hand through his hair and swore again.  
  
The boy left, and I just watched Buttons's chest heave up and down with his ragged breathing. He had the worst black circle forming around his eye, and his chin and neck were covered in blood. He looked every bit as terrible as Kerry, and he seemed to be drifting on either side of consciousness.  
  
I pulled my feet out from under me and sat on the floor, and then Spot sat down next to me. We just watched Buttons, as if we were expecting something amazing to happen and he would get up and be the same as always.  
  
Spot laughed softly, "I can't believe this..."  
  
"Neither can I." Standing up, I brushed my skirt off and walked back towards the stairs. "I really need some sleep."  
  
I put my foot on the first step, and then stopped and turned back around. Spot was still sitting on the floor with his back to me, he hadn't even looked up when I'd walked away. Staring at him, I was completely torn between standing there and going back upstairs to Kerry. At that moment, it was easy to hate myself. It took every ounce of will to try and make myself go back upstairs, but it was still impossible. That guilty part of me wouldn't move. Gazing at Spot's back, I knew that I was betraying both him and Kerry... as well as myself.  
  
"What's wrong?" He didn't turn around, but he obviously knew I was still standing there.  
  
"Everything," was all I could think of to say back.  
  
Spot turned and faced me, searching my face for some indication of what I was hiding. I bit my tongue to keep myself from blurting out my terrible secret to him, and tried to find something else to look at, anything but those beautiful green eyes.  
  
"Are you," my voice was soft as I choked out my words. "Are you gonna stay down here with him tonight?"  
  
He took a deep breath and rested his head on his hand. "Might as well, nobody else will." I found the courage to bring my eyes to his, and made one of my own hands into a tight fist behind my back. "You wanna stay down here with me?"  
  
For a moment I fought with temptation to tell him that yes, I would stay down in the main room with him, but I couldn't leave Kerry up there by himself. I shook my head, "No thanks, Spot. I'll see you in the morning though."  
  
The air in the upstairs room was chilly, but Kerry was breathing steadily in his sleep, and Fishface was muttering something unconsciously to herself, and it didn't surprise me when I heard the Cowboy's name throughout the incoherent slur of words.  
  
Slowly, counting the numbers of my breaths as I inhaled and exhaled, I managed to fall asleep, despite how much I had on my mind.  
  
It wasn't the jabbing of Spot Conlon's cane, nor the incessant giggling of Fishface, nor even that God Awful sunlight that awoke me the next morning, but a cough and a slur of swears coming from a mouth that I never thought they would come from.  
  
"Ruth..." I heard Kerry say quietly, "You really shouldn't swear so much..."  
  
Fishface grumbled something and sat down next to her brother, who's eyes met mine from across the room, "You 'wake..." he half-slurred his speech.  
  
"'Mornin'," I muttered.  
  
"Mor-" Kerry's cheeks puffed up before he puked right into the bucket his sister held next to his bed.  
  
"Perhaps for you," Fishface said pointedly. "Kerry's not only injured, but hungover. And it's not a good mix."  
  
"I don't suppose so," I said, trying to smile, but honestly, Kerry looked pathetic. He didn't deserve this. The scars on his face were swelling and he looked as if he were going to be sick again...and he was. I looked away.  
  
When he couldn't vomit anymore, he passed out. It pained me to see him like this, so much that I left without a word and went downstairs in the hopes of finding something more pleasant to think about. But as I reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Buttons still laying stretched out like a corpse, I knew that nothing pleasant would happen today.  
  
I walked over and knelt beside Buttons, and noticed his breathing was slightly more shallow than it had been when I had left him and Spot the night before. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and there were just as many scars decorating his face as Kerry's. His good eye was staring at me blankly, like he didn't recognize me at all. It was almost enough to make me pity him, but I remembered that it was because of him that Kerry was laying upstairs coughing up half his insides. Nevertheless, I said a quick prayer for the both of them, not knowing what else I could have done. I prayed that they would both recover soon, selfishly hoping that I wouldn't have to see either of them suffer like this for very long.  
  
After a moment, I decided that sitting there staring at him wouldn't help anything. I needed to get out of the clubhouse, even if just to breathe fresh air out on the docks. So I went out there and sat down like I had so many times before. But unlike every other time, I felt completely alone. I wanted so badly for someone to come out and sit with me, anyone at all. I tried to think, but my mind was completely blank, and I felt as though I wasn't really living that day, just breathing.  
  
I didn't have to sit alone for very long, though. It was about ten minutes before I saw Spot walking towards the docks with Patrick close behind him. A rush of relief ran through me, knowing that my brother would be there for me. I stood up, and both of them saw me. I half-ran to Patrick and threw myself into his arms. He stood there holding me for a moment, and I felt a little better. The three of us walked back toward the clubhouse, not having said a word yet.  
  
Finally, Patrick cleared his throat and spoke. "Well, is he any better this mornin'?"  
  
I knew that he was referring to Kerry, I didn't even know if my brother knew Buttons. "No, he's hung over in addition to all his bruises and cuts."  
  
Spot spoke up, "What about Buttons? He looked really bad when I left."  
  
"He isn't any better either. I think they're both a bit worse."  
  
"I'm gonna go up and see Kerry," it was the first time I could remember Patrick calling Kerry by his first name. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He left Spot and I standing there in silence, neither quite sure what to say.  
  
"Hey," hearing his voice, I looked up from the ground that I had been staring at. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I hate seeing him all beat up like that. So I left, being the selfish person I am." I tried to smile, but it didn't work. "But, um, thanks for bringing Patrick over here. I appreciate it." I smiled again, it was genuine this time.  
  
Spot just shrugged, obviously not seeing the importance in what he had so simply done. "I thought you might want him here to talk to."  
  
I'm not quite sure where it came from, but suddenly the impulse seized me to hug him, and so I did, clutching his shoulders awkwardly. He tried to hold me around the waist just as clumsily, and under other circumstances we probably would have laughed at ourselves. It was comforting to know that there were times that we could laugh together, it made the mood a tiny bit lighter to think that there had been happier days. I had another urge to lay my head down on his shoulder, but there were a hundred reasons floating through my mind not to, the most important lying upstairs in the clubhouse.  
  
Then it hit me. An entire wave of guilt slammed into me, nearly knocking me over. It wasn't Buttons's fault that Kerry was laying up there throwing up everywhere and barely alive. It was mine. It was seeing Spot and I in the park the day before that had led Kerry to go out drinking, I had made him jealous enough to go out drunk alone. My feelings for Spot had hurt the only love I had ever known, and now I had to sit back and watch him become consumed by every pain imaginable. Had any punishment ever been more severe? Had Fate ever been so cruel and unjust? I wanted more than anything to get down on my knees and beg to take it back, change everything so that Kerry would be just as healthy as ever and I could love him as much as he deserved.  
  
I felt tears forming in my eyes, and made a silent vow. Kerry would get better, and I would love him more than ever. Even if I had to take him away from New York, I would make him happy. If there was never any tomorrow, he would have to know that I had loved him. That thought made me smile a bit through my tears, I was going to get to be the hero of this fairy tale.  
  
"You really okay?" Spot stroked my back softly, hearing my breath shaking in my emotional storm.  
  
"I don't know," I leaned back and looked up at him. "But I know that everything will be all right. I can feel it, this will all be over soon."  
  
All he did was gaze back at me curiously. Then his expression softened, and he said the last thing I expected. "I wish there was somethin' more I could do for ya."  
  
He hadn't mentioned Fishface, only me. The mighty Spot Conlon wanted to make me feel better. "Just me?" He gave me another questioning look. "Nobody else?"  
  
That made him smile a bit, "Yeah, just you. You mean more to me than you think, Anabeth."  
  
"I didn't know I meant anything to ya."  
  
Spot opened his mouth to reply, but then Patrick came walking out of the clubhouse. Spot and I separated as quickly as we could, and much to our delight my brother didn't say anything about finding us in each other's arms.  
  
"Hey, Spot, could you maybe leave me and Anabeth alone for a few minutes?"  
  
"Sure," he went back into the clubhouse, hopefully to check on Kerry and Buttons for himself.  
  
I looked anxiously at Patrick, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable.  
  
"I... well, this may not be the best time to tell ya-"  
  
"But you're going to anyway, right?" I interrupted him, and he nodded.  
  
"I... well, I found a place for you and me to stay." As he spoke, I closed my eyes and let it sink in. "It ain't the best place, kinda messy and fallin' apart, but it's affordable, and it's better than nothin', right?" He waited for a response from me, but he didn't get one. "It's not far from the lodgin' house, so I could still work as a newsie in Manhattan and I could probably be able to keep my factory job, too." I still hadn't said anything, I was trying to imagine not being in Brooklyn anymore. The city had become my world, the docks and the clubhouse the only home I knew. The thought of living anywhere else was almost incomprehensible. "But we aren't gonna move in for a little while longer, probably a couple of weeks. Not like we have anything to move into it, anyway." I opened my eyes, and he was struggling to grin as he always did. There was a long silence, then he said, "Is that okay with you?"  
  
The only thing I could offer was a shrug. "Sure." He nodded, and I was desparate to change the subject. "Well... how's Daisy?"  
  
Patrick's face fell a bit, "I wouldn't know. She and I aren't... together anymore." It was his turn to shrug, "She left me last week." I knew that he was trying to make it sound like an easy loss, though he didn't fool me. But I didn't want to say anything more about it.  
  
The next few hours were beyond uneventful. I spent most of the day sitting next to Kerry, watching him fade in and out of conciousness, listening to his thoughtless babbling about headlines and selling, as well as his ragged breath heaving out of his body with difficulty. After awhile he stopped throwing up, much to my relief. Spot stayed away from the upstairs room, I supposed he was keeping an eye on Buttons, who was doing even worse than Kerry. But Fishface spent most of the day alongside her brother and I, neither of us saying much at all.  
  
Late in the afternoon, Fishface decided to go out and find something for us to eat. I hoped that she wouldn't resort to that disgusting stuff that Spot had fed me when I had first come to Brooklyn, I'd made a point of avoiding it ever since.  
  
She had only been gone a few moments when Kerry began to talk again slowly, more to himself than to me.  
  
"I decided that when I'm okay again, you and me are gonna go to Scotland. Not forever though, I just feel like visitin' again... I told you how pretty it is, right? The whole place is just the most beautiful thing in the world, it's better than anything anybody could dream up. You can't even begin to think of how amazing it is till you've seen it for yourself."  
  
I just allowed him to ramble on, not having the heart to stop him.  
  
"I love you, y'know?" Kerry seemed to suddenly remember that I was there. "Have I told ya that before?"  
  
Smiling, I nodded. "Yeah Kerry, you've told me. I love you, too. You don't know how much." I think I said it to reassure myself more than him.  
  
Nodding back at me, his thoughts went back to his homeland. "And there's all these beautiful hills and forests, and the lakes and the..." He went into another coughing fit, and I held a handkerchief up to his mouth just as I had been doing all day.  
  
Kerry didn't cough for very long, and I hoped that it was a sign that he was getting better. As I took the handkerchief away from his mouth, he looked at me strangely, just as if he were seeing me for the first time.  
  
"Kerry?"  
  
He didn't say anything back, he just continued to stare at me, licking his lips and frowning in confusion. Then, a peaceful understanding seemed to come over him, and he tried faintly to smile a bit. But his mouth stayed motionless, and his eyes went blank. The muscles in his face that were trying to smile went still, and he laid his head back softly, just as if he were relaxing from a hard day's work. His eyes were shifting around a bit, and then they froze too, resting intently on me. He stopped moving, and I glanced over him in confusion, a frown creeping across my own lips.  
  
"Kerry?" I said his name again, but with no response. Suddenly I realized how quiet it had become, and reality came crashing down on me. Kerry had stopped breathing.  
  
Sitting there dumbly, I tried to decide whether or not I should believe this was really happening. It had to be some tortuous dream, I had fallen asleep and would wake up any minute and see Kerry laying on my mattress still talking to himself. But after five minutes, he still hadn't moved, and I hadn't woken up.  
  
I stood up quickly and looked down around frantically. Running my hands through my hair, I wanted to rip all of it out. I backed away from the mattress slowly until I felt myself pressing against the wall. Throwing my head back against the wall roughly, I sank down to the floor, feeling every sense leave me. I didn't hear Fishface walk in, I didn't hear her scream and fall down to the floor near where I was sitting. If I heard anything at all, it was only a faint melodious voice humming "Loch Lomond," growing quieter every moment. 


	20. Chapter 20

I looked down at the gravestone. The engraved figures across it formed his name: "Kerry MacKilligan". The yard was small and overgrown with weeds, and the few of us gathered there huddled together to keep ourselves warm. The sky had clouded over and I could see on Patrick's hair that snow was starting to fall from it. Sister Agnes squeezed my shoulder, trying to reassure me.  
  
Soon, our huddle began to deform, and became myself, Patrick, and Fishface. She shivered in the cold, clutching her arms, and tears were streaming down her face, and they looked as if they were about to freeze. She looked up at me and glanced away, as if searching herself, "I almost forgot..." she said, "I wanted to give you this."  
  
She reached from behind her jacket, pulling out something that she had wrapped in a napkin, "I want you to have this." She handed it to me and I looked at her questioningly, she nodded, urging me to unfold it, so I did.  
  
Kerry's slingshot. I closed my eyes. He had given it to her the night before he died. She couldn't be giving me her brother's slingshot. "I can't take this."  
  
"Yes you can," She did exactly as her brother had always done, and brushed my hair behind my ear, "He'd want you to have it." She glanced back at his grave and nodded.  
  
I don't know what possessed me to hug Ruth MacKilligan, but I found myself doing so that moment. And I found her hugging me back. She was shivering, and honestly, I was getting a little cold myself.  
  
"Why don't we go get somethin' to eat, huh Fishface?" I suggested, "It's gettin' cold, and we can probably catch up with Patrick and Spot."  
  
She shook her head, "You go ahead. I think I'll stay here awhile longer. Y'know, say my goodbyes before I go to Jack..."  
  
I nodded, "Catch up with us later, alright?"  
  
She nodded solemnly and I turned and started walking away, and I could have sworn I felt an almost warm gust of wind around me as I heard her soft soprano singing, "But me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond..."  
  
Patrick's head turned as the door of the clubhouse creaked opened. I welcomed the bit of heat that the room offered, and sat down next to him. He shifted a bit and squeezed my shoulder. I glanced at Spot. I had tried not to think of him for the past day or so. He caused me so much guilt that I wanted to hurt myself. I had to get away from him. Before I let my infatuation for him grow into love. Because that's what it was, an infatuation.  
  
"Patrick? Can we go upstairs and talk?" I asked quietly.  
  
He nodded, and we climbed the stairs. The room was just as cold as it was outside, and through the window, I could see that that the snow was piling up. The small graveyard we had buried Kerry in was within sight, and I could see Fishface, still standing by her brother. I bit my lip as I turned to my own.  
  
"Patrick... I know this sounds crazy, but I have to leave."  
  
"Ya are leavin' Shortstack; we're goin' ta live in Manhattan together."  
  
"I don't mean like that Patrick," I sighed, I wasn't sure how I was going to explain this to him, "I can't stay here, I can't see Spot Conlon anymore, I can't watch life go on here without Kerry. I can't watch Buttons heal and start sellin' again while Kerry's..." I couldn't bring myself to say it, and I looked at him, hoping he'd understand, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug, "I can't stand to live in this city anymore."  
  
"Well, where do ya wanna go?"  
  
"Anywhere, it doesn't matter. There's just too much here... does that even make sense?"  
  
He hugged me tighter, "Yeah, it makes sense. So where should we go, if we're gonna leave Manhattan?"  
  
I smiled a bit, looking up at him. "Who said anything about 'we'?"  
  
"I'm the big brother, remember? There's no way I'd let you go anywhere without me." Maybe he was only saying that because he no longer had someone like Daisy to keep him here, but it just didn't matter. As long as he was with me, I would be okay. Or I would at least be sane.  
  
"So... are you okay?" He looked down at me with concern in his eyes.  
  
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "You know, every time someone asks me that, it just reminds me that I'm really not."  
  
"You can always tell me anything, remember that. Okay?"  
  
Hearing that reminded me of when Kerry had said the same thing, and I felt compelled to blurt out everything that had happened. As I looked up at my brother, I wondered how he would react if I told him all the things I had done while in Brooklyn, including the night I spent with Kerry. It already felt like years had passed since then. But I needed to tell someone, and it might as well be the person I trusted most in this entire world.  
  
So with a deep breath, I told Patrick as quickly as I possibly could about everything, not even giving him a second in between to respond. All he could do was listen. His face illustrated no real reaction, but his eyes did go wide when I briefly mentioned the night Kerry and I had spent in Spot's room downstairs.  
  
I hadn't told anyone what had happened until then, and I was surprised at how calm I was throughout it. When I finished, I tried to calm my breathing while my brother held me again, and I wondered why I wasn't crying. For some reason, it just didn't feel right. I never did cry over Kerry. When he had died, I felt like I had lost a part of myself, and that his funeral was my own, and you don't cry at your own funeral.  
  
A few minutes later when Patrick and I went back downstairs, we were greeted with the sight of Buttons sitting up against the wall, rambling to himself. It killed me that he was getting better, the most selfish and insensitive part of me wanted to freshen that black eye of his that was beginning to fade. But I still tried to put on a smile and pretend that I was glad he was getting healthier every day. I couldn't talk to him, though. It took less energy and will to smile than it did to say something. He didn't try and talk to me, either. He knew I wouldn't have anything to say to him. So we only acknowledged each other's existence, no need for anything more. And so in the usual silence, I was able to walk right past him without a second glance. Think me bitter if you want, I deserved it.  
  
Later I had retreated to the upper room of the clubhouse once more, and the sky had grown dark, I couldn't see anything outside my window, save the graying snow landing on the sill. Fishface hadn't returned from downstairs yet, though I didn't worry about her. I had decided that that girl, no matter how giggly she could be, could handle herself without me having to think about her.  
  
In my hand I held the slingshot she had given me earlier that day; it was still wrapped in her napkin. I noticed that there was some embroidery across the back. Obviously, the first thing that had actually been properly stitched in little x's, perhaps from when she'd grown up at the girls' home, there, in a soft green thread were stitched her initials "R.M.". Though I could tell that later on she'd added in messy stitching, with a dark brown thread, a heart around her initials, and underneath hers, "J.K." I smiled lightly. Somehow, I wasn't surprised seeing this from her. I went to give her handkerchief back, but I heard voices from the lower room, and decided to see who it was before entering.  
  
"Spot..." I heard Ruth MacKilligan speaking softly to him, "I need to tell you something." She paused for a moment, "I wasn't gonna tell you at all, but after Kerry... you're the only brother I've got left. And it wasn't fair not to tell you. I'm gonna marry Jack when I get to Santa Fe."  
  
"Guy like Jack," Spot said, his voice almost wavering, "A lucky guy like Jack...how could you expect him to do anything but ask you to marry him?" There was a silence. "When are ya leavin'?"  
  
"As soon as I can. I just," She paused, "I just can't stand to be around here anymore. I don't know what I want from here anymore, I used to have all these plans for when I grew up, living with my brother, who would be rich by then, because he was always real smart, and then I'd fall madly in love and Kerry'd find a great girl like Anabeth and they'd get married and we'd all live happily ever after in a big house in the country; I only got part of my dreams, Spot. And I can't let him slip away to his dreams without me in 'em."  
  
"I don't think he'd ever do that, Ruth." Spot said, rapping his cane on the ground. He hadn't done that in awhile. I suppose it sounded good to him. I peered around the corner. Buttons was still laid out across three or four crates, and his eyes rested on me. Though he didn't say anything, I could tell that the way he'd moved his head diverted Fishface's attention from Spot and her head turned around and landed on me.  
  
"I...uh... I came to return your handkerchief." I said quietly, descending the stairs and handing it to her. She looked at the stitching on it and smiled. She loved him. And it was as plain and simple as that.  
  
"I'm gonna turn in," She said suddenly, breaking the silence, "Thanks for returning this. And..." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts, "I'm glad you decided to keep it." She was, of course, referring to the slingshot, though I'm sure neither Spot nor Buttons knew that.  
  
There was yet another awkward silence. This, I could tell was going to be one of those partings where everyone awkwardly left until there was one person alone, and they just went their own separate way.  
  
"I'm going back to the lodgin' house," Spot said shortly as he turned, pulling on his jacket, then he turned around softly, "Take care of yourself, and them," he motioned towards Buttons, who was coughing, and I supposed 'them' included Fishface, "Alright?"  
  
I nodded, "Alright."  
  
I turned and looked at Buttons. He was staring straight at me. I just shrugged and forced his eyes off of me, but just as I was about to climb the stairway, his voice interrupted me.  
  
"Shortstack-" He said roughly, "I know this is...stupid, because you're never gonna...y'know, believe it, but I..." I stared at him, wishing he would finish, and honestly, not caring what he was on about, "I'm sorry for what happened."  
  
I stared at him blankly.  
  
"If you don't wanna, don't forgive me."  
  
I stared at him again, but suddenly something moved in me, I'm not sure whether it was the slop that I had eaten earlier that day telling me that it was time to regurgitate or whether I really forgave him. But it moved again, "I forgive you." I said, and I turned and walked up the stairs, falling down onto my mattress and falling asleep.  
  
Sleep comes hard for the busy-minded, and is often interrupted by horrible images. Though my dream was not of dying, it was filled with guilt-ridden thoughts, and it kept me awake.  
  
But I was positive that I wasn't dreaming when I saw light come in from the door to the upstairs room, and the distinct smell of horses wafted over my way. My eyes snapped open.  
  
Suddenly, I felt myself smile softly as the dark figure knelt down beside the mattress my sort of "roommate" slept on and softly said to her, "Sleep sweet, Ruthy..."  
  
Fishface turned over in her sleep, and before I knew it, I was watching her leap on him in a hug. He kissed her all over her face as she embraced him. Finally, and I believe Fishface had been waiting for this for awhile, he slipped a ring over her finger, and pulled her into a passionate kiss.  
  
Still smiling, I quietly got up from my mattress and left, closing the door softly behind me. I'm not sure whether or not they had even noticed that I had left. There wasn't anything else to do, so I decided that I should go outside and get some fresh night air. The only thing that I found downstairs was Buttons sleeping up against the wall, so I crept by him quietly, trying not to laugh at the sight of him drooling in his sleep.  
  
Outside on the docks, I was relieved to feel the faint early morning rain falling down on my skin lightly. I tilted my head back, letting my face cool off by the soft drizzling, humming to myself softly.  
  
After a moment, I looked back up, and nearly jumped when I saw a shadow sitting on a pile of crates nearby. Taking a step closer, I could see the cheap cigarette in his hand and the cap hanging on the tip of his cane. He hadn't seen me yet, so it was easy to take a good look at the sullen look on his face. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I walked right up to him, and his head snapped up hearing my footsteps.  
  
"What are you doin' out here?" he asked, standing up.  
  
"I was just gonna ask you the same thing."  
  
Spot took a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "I saw the Cowboy come back a few minutes ago. Just didn't feel like goin' back to the lodgin' house."  
  
"You'd rather sit out here and sulk?" Maybe I hadn't asked that in the most considerate way. But he didn't reply, he just looked at me sharply. Then he turned and threw his cigarette into the river. "I mean, I know how you feel about her, but isn't it time to face reality?"  
  
"What would you know about facing reality?"  
  
"What the hell kinda question is that?" Well, this was going nowhere very quickly. "Look, don't you think I'd know something about losing somebody you care about?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," he wouldn't look at me anymore, which made it considerably easier to talk to him.  
  
I took a step back, "It just doesn't make any sense to me, why you're so completely obsessed with her that you don't see how incredibly..." I cut myself off there, deciding that what I was going to say would have been a bad idea.  
  
My sudden silence got his attention unfortunately. "Incredibly what? Pathetic I am? That's what you were gonna say, isn't it? I know you've been wantin' to say it ever since you met me. You probably have said it, I don't remember." He walked over to me and stood in my face, his green eyes blazing through the darkness. "Let me tell you somethin', Anabeth Meyers. You ARE NOT allowed to feel sorry for me, got that? It doesn't matter what you say, it ain't gonna change anything. God, you've been a pain ever since you showed up here." With that, he started to turn and walk away, but I wasn't about to let him leave in triumph.  
  
"Well, let me tell you something. I'm not something that happened to you, Spot. I'm not some accident that just happened to end up here, so don't talk to me like that." Suddenly I wanted to be as far away from him as possible, but I couldn't make my feet move. "Besides," my voice dropped, "I'm leavin' soon anyway."  
  
Now I had his full attention. "What? Leavin'?"  
  
"Yeah," I just couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice, "as in goin' away. As in not here anymore."  
  
"But why?"  
  
I couldn't exactly tell him that I was leaving New York because I was hopelessly infatuated with him, so I just made a vague excuse.  
  
"Well... there's lots of reasons. But the main one is... I suppose I'm just not happy here, and I never will be. I mean, I've spent my entire life here, so I've had sixteen years to be miserable." I took a deep breath, "I guess the only thing that's missing is a reason to stay..."  
  
He hadn't missed my implication at all, and I think I might have secretly been hoping that he wouldn't.  
  
"Are you lookin' for one? A reason to stay, I mean."  
  
The only option was to lie. "No..." I felt a lump forming in my throat. "And I don't think you're pathetic. At least, not entirely. So you didn't need to get angry with me."  
  
Once again, he wouldn't look at me. "You don't understand, Anabeth, but I have to be angry. It convinces everybody else, and even me, that..." He paused, and glanced at me.  
  
"That what?"  
  
With a big sigh, he said quickly, "That I don't need anybody, especially anybody like you. Cause I don't, I never needed anybody, and nobody needs me, not really. All these guys think they need me to run their lives, but they don't, they never did." He shrugged and added, "So I guess neither of us really has any reason to be here, we just... are."  
  
Spot took a step towards me, and I inhaled sharply and bit my tongue. God, I could hear myself screaming in my head to tell him how I felt, it was overpowering my senses. Staring up into his eyes, my legs were about to give out completely, and my breathing was shallow. I bit too hard on my tongue, and made the stupid mistake of opening my mouth.  
  
"Please don't do that, Spot. Not now, don't talk to me like that, and for the love of God, don't look at me the way you do. I mean, you... you talk about us and it just reminds me of how I feel about you, even though I hate myself for feeling it. And you don't make it any easier by trying to make it look like we're in the same situation." I stopped, not sure whether or not I should say anything else.  
  
He took a deep breath, raising his eyebrow curiously. "I think you may have missed my point-"  
  
I cut him off quickly, "Well, then don't miss mine." I let out a breath that I hadn't noticed I'd been holding. "I..." I'd gotten this far, I might as well go ahead and tell him everything, so I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, almost choking on my words as they came out. "I don't understand it at all, but I know how I feel about you. And it really, really scares me, because I shouldn't be thinking it but you know when you just can't help but be completely... aware of something? I mean, the way you look at me, the way I can talk to you, the way you kissed me, it just... it scares me because, honestly, I'm not so sure that it's not what I really want. And I know it doesn't make any sense, but you're the reason I'm leaving, I have to get away from you. Cause this is so incredibly and... terrifyingly real, that I just can't help but run away from it. So please, please if you care about me at all like you said you do, even if it's just a little bit, don't try and make me say again that I love you. Cause this time I might just do something completely and utterly crazy... like mean it." 


	21. Chapter 21 If This is the End

A/N: Wow. A whole month. Sorry dudes. Well, this is the last chapter, I want to say "finally!", but I'm gonna miss this... but it's not over. Bwahahahaha. BUT. I do have to do cookies. Cookies (specially baked, JUST FOR YOU... and me. And the other me. And me again. None for Shortstack... okay, maybe just one.) go to: Meredith, Snooza (You're the best, really, you are!), Megabee Athelete, Cinnamon Curls, Devonny, Anna C., Deanie, Pencil 3, Um..., Fictionlover, and Tiger17! Yum. *eats the leftover cookies* even YUMMIER. On to the story... *stuffs face*  
  
***  
  
As I stood at the train station, I had the ominous feeling that this would be where I would say goodbye to New York City within the next few days. It was strange to see all the Manhattan newsboys again after spending so much time in Brooklyn. I hardly remembered some of their names, though I did remember Skittery, who had brought Fishface's things, and Kid Blink, my brother's best friend. They had come to see their leader off once more. Jack and Fishface were finally going to Santa Fe.  
  
Fishface smiled at me and engulfed me in a hug, "You take care, alright?"  
  
"I will," I managed to say, could I be crying? No, I couldn't cry over a girl as flaky as Ruth MacKilligan leaving, she had gotten on my very last nerve since the day I met her, and yet, yes, I was crying, "You take care of yourself too..." I smiled, "And your fiancé, you know how men are, completely pathetic." I grinned and winked at her.  
  
"Sh," she shushed me quietly then leaned over, "Jack hasn't told the boys yet."  
  
"He hasn't?"  
  
Fishface shook her head. I couldn't help but notice how she did so...exactly like her brother. "I love him." She said softly, glancing back at him, and then back towards me, "I've got to go."  
  
"Goodbye," I called to her as she boarded the train.  
  
She turned around and gave me one of her million dollar grins, "It's not goodbye, Anabeth, It's see you later!"  
  
As the train started to roll away, I felt strange, sort of torn between being sad, and being incredibly happy for her, incredibly happy for myself, or sad for Spot. I wasn't quite sure what to feel, so I didn't bother trying to place it.  
  
As the end of the train pulled out of the station, I grinned. Jack Kelly had flung his head out one of the windows and yelled to his boys, "I'm in love with Ruth MacKilligan, and I'm going to marry her!"  
  
I laughed and let the cheers of the Manhattan newsies drown out the rest of my thoughts.  
  
There was a poster on the wall for Saint Louis, "Where Dreams Come True" and there was a young man and woman standing there smiling. Wryly, I grinned, leaned over, and whispered to Patrick, "I know where we should go."  
  
He nodded, and after giving me a kiss on the forehead, counted out his money from his factory night-job and went to buy us some tickets for the next day.  
  
I had noticed how Spot hadn't come to see off Fishface. Perhaps it made him depressed, but I wondered whether or not Fishface had been hurt by it, she loved him like she'd loved her brother, did he even respect that she loved him at all? Just because she didn't love him like he wanted, didn't mean she didn't want him to see her off, it didn't mean that she didn't love him at all.  
  
Despite the rowdiness from the returning Brooklyn newsboys, it was in a sense of utter loneliness that I reentered Spot Conlon's clubhouse that afternoon. There was no Kerry MacKilligan to smile and greet me, there was no Fishface to regale me with her letters from the famous Jack Kelly, there wasn't even Patrick, who had left me to return to Manhattan and gather his belongings before we left the next day.  
  
The only familiar face, if it was with his expression, was that of Spot Conlon's. He looked sullen, yet not so, pensive almost. After glancing at him, I decided to go upstairs and pack.  
  
"Anabeth?"  
  
I turned around and looked at him, "Yeah, Spot?"  
  
"When are ya' leavin'?"  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
"Oh..." He paused, and I turned to leave, thinking that he was finished, and that was the only information that he wanted, but he started again, "I'm gonna miss ya."  
  
I kept walking, but after about the third step, I caught myself and turned around, "I'll miss ya too, ya bum."  
  
Shaking my head, I went upstairs and began to pack my things.  
  
I turned over the blanket I had been using for my pillow and moved something very familiar into my new carpetbag. Then, I thought the better of myself and picked it back up, and softly pulled my handkerchief from around the slingshot. The handle was rough and worn, nothing like that of Spot Conlon's, who's was specially whittled, perhaps because he was the best shot, or perhaps that he was the leader. But Kerry's slingshot had a different look to it. I pulled back the string where the tiny leather strap would hold a pebble and aimed. Maybe I, too, could have "impeccable" aim. But this, in fact, was a ridiculous thought. What on earth would I do with a slingshot in Saint Louis?  
  
I jumped as I heard that thick Brooklyn accent behind me, "That one was Kerry's," He was saying, "He never replaced it. It was the first one Warrick ever gave 'im when he was nine. I was eight. It was the year after he became a newsie."  
  
I raised an eyebrow at him, "How'd you know that?"  
  
Spot shrugged, "I don't know... when you spend enough time in Brooklyn you notice these things." He sat down on my mattress, watching me out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Really?" I asked skeptically, "Pray tell, what else did you notice?"  
  
I don't think Spot caught my sarcasm, either that or he was completely ignoring it, "Well, three of my boys never shot at nothin' but cans, except once, that was durin' the strike. I'm sure Mu-Patrick told ya about that. And this one kid, I call 'im Alleycat, can really play a fiddle. He hid it someplace in the lodgins'... Guess he didn't think anyone would notice 'im practicin' up on the roof..." Spot smiled.  
  
And I smiled back.  
  
After a few moments of silence, he stood up to leave, I guess he thought we'd finished or something, but I interrupted him, "You miss 'er, don't ya?"  
  
He turned around and nodded, "Yeah, yeah I do."  
  
"Why didn't you go to see her off, then?"  
  
He took a deep breath and looked away in a daze. "I just... couldn't."  
  
"I think she wanted you to."  
  
Abruptly his glance came back to me, "She probably did. But I just didn't wanna see her get on that train with another guy and have to think about how happy they'll be." He smiled a bit, but his eyes didn't change. "I'm selfish like that. Maybe not going was a mistake..."  
  
"Maybe. The only real mistake is the one that doesn't teach you anything." When he gave me a questioning glance, I turned my eyes sharply back down to the slingshot in my hands. "What'd you come up here for anyway?"  
  
He deliberately tapped his cane on the floor, "I don't know... I guess I just didn't want you to leave without sayin' good-bye... y'know?"  
  
"This is a good-bye?"  
  
"It's the best I can do."  
  
Something shifted in his eyes, I wasn't quite sure what it was either, but then he rubbed them and inwardly, I almost laughed, was the almighty Spot Conlon on the verge of tears?  
  
"Got somethin' in me eye."  
  
"Aha," I nodded, re-wrapping the slingshot and putting it in the bag. In my mind, I could hear my own voice whispering, "Ask me to stay," over and over. I tried my best to block it out, wringing my hands anxiously, hoping he would say something before I did.  
  
"Hey, I'm gonna go back downstairs, have a cigarette, but... if I don't see ya before ya leave, good bye." He turned and started down the stairs.  
  
I got up and stuck my head out the door, "Hey Spot?" He looked at me and I smiled, "It's not goodbye, it's see ya later."  
  
He laughed, perhaps a little bit wryly, "See ya later, Shorts."  
  
"See ya later." I said, and closing the door behind me, I closed my eyes, "Good bye, Spot." I whispered to myself.  
  
Leaning back against the door, I silently asked myself what I was doing. He had been right there, I could have told him what I was feeling and been done with it. The need to tell him was eating away at me. Whatever reaction he would have didn't bother me, I just wanted him to know.  
  
It hadn't been this difficult to tell Kerry that I loved him, but I cared about him in a different way.  
  
Suddenly, something caught my eye. Fishface had left her fountain pen sitting there on the window sill like she left it there on purpose for me to use. Quickly, almost spasmodically, I pulled out my copy of The Man in the Iron Mask and opened to the front cover; I grabbed the pen and sat down on the mattress where Fishface had slept. Hesitating, I dropped a little ink on the paper. Yes. It wrote. As neatly as I could, I formed in my own script the words "I love Spot Conlon." Then, underneath, I signed my name and printed it again underneath, just as they had taught me in school. I blew on it to make sure that it would dry before shutting it again. I fell back on my bed, knowing that all my things were in that bag, and soon I would be leaving, and slowly, I closed my eyes and let sleep overcome me.  
  
I wasn't quite sure what woke me the next morning. Perhaps it was that I had had enough sleep, but as my eyes opened, I realized that I essentially had to get up. As I re-braided my hair, using the window as a mirror, I glanced back at the room, remembering the smell of the fresh flowers that Kerry used to bring me, I closed my eyes, and almost, as if in the back of my mind, I could still smell them.  
  
I was just gathering my things as I heard a knock on the door to the upstairs, and then the door slowly creaked open, "It's just me, Anabeth," I heard my brother say as he entered, I turned around and smiled at him.  
  
"Hey Patrick."  
  
"You... you almost ready to go?" He had his hands stuck in his pockets, and I could tell he was beside himself. I don't think that he was used to getting up in the morning and not going to sell his papers.  
  
"Just about." I said as I picked up my book. In my mind sometime the night before, I decided what I was going to do with it, "I just have to give this to somebody."  
  
As I slowly descended the stairs to the lower room, I realized that he probably wouldn't be there. I mean, why would he be? He needed to sell his papers. He hadn't even come to see off Fishface, and he was in love with her. Why on earth would he wait for me?  
  
But he did.  
  
His eyes met mine as I turned the corner. There he sat, same as when I first saw him, his cap pulled over his head, his cane hanging on his right belt loop, and his slingshot in his left pocket.  
  
"I thought you'd be out sellin;..." I said quietly.  
  
He stuttered for a moment, "I just... last night didn't seem like a proper good bye to me."  
  
"I told you," I said, half-way biting the sides of my mouth so that I didn't scream my feelings for him, "It's not good bye it's see ya later."  
  
Spot laughed, perhaps a little dryly, and I recovered, "I..." I stuttered, "I wanted to give you this." I handed him the book, and as he went to open it, perhaps to flip through the pages, I jumped, "No! Don't open it. Not, uh, not yet. Don't open it until you know I've gone."  
  
He simply raised that damnable eyebrow at me, but I didn't return his quizzical look, I simply laughed, it was the best I could do, "Finish it sometime, alright?"  
  
"Okay," he smiled, but it was a sad smile.  
  
"Well..." I searched my mind for something to say, but all I could see were those regretful eyes. I looked up at him, and he was everything I shouldn't want. With his thin arms and short stature, he was a scrawny sarcastic little perfection. It wasn't painful to think that I couldn't ever kiss him again; it was heartbreaking to know that I once had. I'd had a taste of perfection, but now it was gone forever. And it was standing right in front of me.  
  
"I guess there's nothing left to say," he shrugged.  
  
Wrong, Spot. There's an eternity of words left, I just don't have the courage to say them aloud. But with just one kiss, one touch on your cheek, I could tell you all you'd ever need to know.  
  
I wasn't quite sure whether I was imagining it or not, but his eyes seemed to be searching me for something, some kind of indication.  
  
"What are you thinking?" I asked him quietly.  
  
He frowned. "You know, suddenly I was thinkin' about what you said about happy endings. Not sure why, though," he shrugged again.  
  
"I don't think I believe in endings anymore, happy or sad," now it was my turn to frown.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well," I pretended to smile, "why would you want to live thinking that eventually you'll reach the end? Wouldn't it be nicer to always believe that it isn't over yet?"  
  
Spot looked at me sympathetically, most likely taking it as a reference to Kerry.  
  
It was then that Patrick came down after me, in his hand he held my carpetbag and a small bag thrown over his shoulder. "You ready Shorts?"  
  
I glanced at Spot before turning back to my brother, "Yeah Patrick, I'm ready."  
  
Spot looked up and Patrick walked over to him, "Thanks Conlon, for takin' 'er in, y'know. I don't know what I woulda done."  
  
Spot regained his arrogance quickly, "Yeah, well I got my clubhouse cleaned," But in his eyes, I could see something different, he glanced at me and they seemed to be grinning at me. He was still holding the book as if he were about to open it.  
  
Patrick shook Spot's hand and said his goodbyes. As we were walking out, I turned around, "See ya later Spot."  
  
He tried to grin, and said slyly, "Take care of yourself."  
  
I mustered a smile back, "Yes, sir."  
  
And then the door closed, and I knew I wouldn't open it again. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment then opened them again, following my brother silently all the way to the train station. I wondered what this meant for him, leaving everything he ever knew behind. Patrick had been a Lower East Side Newsie his entire life. Were there newsies in Saint Louis? There had to be. How else would they get their news?  
  
There we were, waiting in line, when Patrick turned to me, "Are you sure this is what you really want?"  
  
"I'm not sure of anything lately." I stared ahead blankly.  
  
"Well," he tried, "What do you want to wake up ta every mornin'?"  
  
"If I could answer that question, I wouldn't be here right now."  
  
The seats in the train were cushioned. I hadn't sat on a cushioned seat since my confirmation. It held some sort of fascination to take my mind off of things. Patrick let me have the window seat, and as I looked out, I wondered if Spot had opened the book yet or if he had just left it laying there for anyone to read. Dear God, I hope he had put it where only he could find it. Patrick had gone off to find something for us to eat. I really didn't want to be reminded of it, but it made me think of that disgusting mush stuff that Spot had given me.  
  
I'd been sitting absentmindedly staring for almost ten minutes when I finally felt someone sit down beside me. Hopefully Patrick found something good to eat to take my mind off of everything else for at least a moment or two. So I turned around and my mouth promptly fell open in shock.  
  
"Hey Shorts," he flashed me a grin and nodded casually.  
  
I tried to find my voice, barely able to choke out a syllable. "I- Wh- Yi- Spot?"  
  
"Impeccable observation," the Brooklyn leader was still grinning, sitting there like an ethereal vision.  
  
"Wh- what are you doing? You can't be here..." I gasped out my thoughts, my mind racing in wonder as to how in the world he got onto the train.  
  
"Sure, I can," he held up a ticket, Patrick's ticket. When I looked at him in disbelief, he pointed out the window behind me.  
  
I whipped around and saw Patrick standing about twenty-five feet away on the platform, waving and smiling at the window.  
  
Turning back around, I ran a hand through my hair in confusion. "This doesn't make any sense... Patrick and I are going to St. Louis... we're gonna get an apartment or... something..."  
  
Spot leaned over and said quietly, "Doesn't look like it to me."  
  
The joking look in his eyes was only confusing me more. "Is this your idea of a big good-bye or something? This is all a joke right?"  
  
"No," he leaned over a bit more and his smile faded, "this is me, asking for a chance to never have to say good-bye again."  
  
All I could do was shake my head over and over in disbelief, and he added, "I hope that's not your answer."  
  
"I... why? You... you're in love with Ruth..."  
  
"I was... and then there was you." His green eyes bore into me, completely mesmerizing, "I think I love you, Anabeth Meyers."  
  
The only thing I could think of to do was avoid answering him. "You think, or you know?"  
  
A smile crossed his face again, and he spoke firmly. "I know." The finality of what he said made me want to cry, he sounded more sincere than ever. But I couldn't find anything to say back. After a moment, he raised that eyebrow at me, just as he always had but not quite like ever before. "Stay with me?"  
  
It wasn't a command; it was a question, an offer. He was giving me a chance to wake up every morning not knowing what would happen to me, the possibility of the unexpected.  
  
"You want me to sleep on a mattress on the floor? It doesn't sound so appealing..."  
  
He smirked at me, which was exactly what I wanted. "Yeah, but we could have a lot of fun on that mattress."  
  
I let out a small laugh. "Do you think we'd be happy?" Again, I avoided.  
  
"No," Spot smiled, "but we'll be together." Another moment of silence, and then a more pleading, "Please, Anabeth, stay here..."  
  
Trying to choke back a sob, I shook my head over and over quickly. "Okay."  
  
Before I could even think, I felt him throw his arms around my waist and pull me into the tightest hug of my life. It was difficult to breathe, but it wasn't like I really needed air at the moment. Then I felt the train begin to move.  
  
"Well now what are we gonna do?" I laughed into his arm.  
  
"Enjoy a short trip to Saint Louis, I guess," he laughed as well, and I felt him kiss my cheek as he did.  
  
Pulling away, I look at him with mocking reprimand. "Didn't I tell you not to look in the book until I'd left?"  
  
He looked at me curiously, "I didn't."  
  
"You didn't?"  
  
"No...why?"  
  
Laughing lightly, I settled back into my seat and he did the same. Resting my head on his shoulder, I said lightly, "You'll see when we get back." Closing my eyes, I whispered, "I love you," and felt his chest rise and fall with his steady harmonious breathing. Soon, I had fallen asleep to the faint melody of "Loch Lomond" going through my mind and the warmth of the fingers interlocked with mine forever.  
  
* * *  
  
Oh my goodness, I can't believe this part is over. it's like the ending of an era. I'm stealing a leftover cookie, by the way. Giving me just one, how cruel. Anyway, don't worry, this isn't the last you'll hear of Spot and Anabeth, neither is it the end of Jack and Fishface. What will become of our heroes? What about Kerry and his mysterious past?? Will Anabeth ever learn to tolerate the cane? Stay tuned for the answers to these and more questions, coming soon!! We've also had ideas for some VERY odd non- relevant stories, too. Not quite as dramatic as this was, though. And wait till we give you a peek into Spot and Anabeth's THERAPY SESSION, featuring none other than. COUNSELOR DAVID!!! Okay, no more cookies for me. Birdy herself has been working on a prequel focusing on Kerry, titled "A Boy and His Slingshot," but she won't tell me anything about it. That's it for now; keep reading!!! Love ya. It's been great. *pulls Fishface off of the stage where she is still bowing dramatically* Time to go, see ya later!! *bows* Okay, we really are leaving now. 


End file.
